In the dark she is rocking, not to records but to voices in her head. Lilybelle Lilybelle Lilybelle hot as hell. 3 am and it feels just like high noon in her head, come to bed, when the air cools down I'm gonna skate away. I'm gonna fly so far I'm gonna kiss that star.
Get off of that trip. Don't touch it baby. You'll burn your pretty fingers, you'll soil your cherry hands. Seven thousand holes to blow through.
Scissors and paper and other sharp things you can chew on that for awhile you're a trained dog girl you got house and a heart of gold won't you try to forget won't you let me won't you let me go to sleep close your eyes shut it down pull the plug kill the lights shut it up shut it up let your head go under let your head go under let your head go to nothing nothing nothing nothing girl. Get off of that trip. Don't touch it baby. You'll burn your pretty fingers, you'll soil your cherry hands. Seven thousand holes to blow through.
There are songbirds and sweet things where angels bare wings and bask in the afterglow of good deeds done by tender souls, but I in my wretched state, fat from years of sucking hate, can never scrape the dirt off, can never shake the other side. It hides in holes behind my eyes