Murder = white out
Cancer = birth blouse
Mirror = perfect glass spouse
Oil = sex paint
Shower = water saint
Death decodes the howls from our hands
Skull = noise nest
Tv = fuck test
Mirror = siamese gun kiss
Sugar = birth bait
Murder = loves fate
Death distills the camouflage from our dance
Death inverts the red from romance
Death x-rays the angels of chance
Death; the anti mirror of infants
Like a picture hiding beneath the digital avalanche
When cecilias grave cracked like a dirt cacoon,
She pulled up a stool at the silhouette saloon
The player piano mumbling crippled jigs,
Black widows knitting victimless wigs
When cecilias throat slit like a second set of lips
She drooled braille bibles onto the brothel bed spread,
Like an egg whose yoke defies child bearing hips
Like a ghost who fears all of the deceased and dead
(time eats the flesh and spits out the shadow like a useless wishbone)
But that locket spinning around her neck,
Whose hearth heats a dead valentine,
You know the phantom trail leads way to a muted grave
Where is his voice now?
A dead tone in the flutter of drunken wings,
Where is his blushed cheek now,
A face unraveled in shadow, veiled in blind laughter
Where are those sex ripened lips,
His kiss print still warm on several necks
Where is love now?

Murder = white out
Cancer = birth blouse
Mirror = perfect glass spouse
Oil = sex paint
Shower = water saint
Death decodes the howls from our hands
Skull = noise nest
Tv = fuck test
Mirror = siamese gun kiss
Sugar = birth bait
Murder = loves fate
Death distills the camouflage from our dance
Death inverts the red from romance
Death x-rays the angels of chance
Death; the anti mirror of infants
Like a picture hiding beneath the digital avalanche