Raven found herself a skinny-skin stiletto In the middle of a crowd, she needs a number Fabricating passion for her painted fellows In the middle of a crowd, she needs a lover
And I want to know Why are we breaking bottles when this well is running dry? Drunk on aerosol, shithole paradise Keep them guessing Make them sweat it out all at once We've always been I think I'm better than them
Spirits thick as thieves the building speaks in riddles In the middle of a crowd, it needs a number Sharpening its teeth the spirit's weeping widows In the middle of a crowd, there are no others
And I want to know Why are we breaking bottles when this well is running dry? it's the great, subliminal, entertainment device With teeth, building living ghosts Be calm, be calm, you riders on the storm
See it for the shadowbox, cannibal, dance distraction See it for the tired, smoke-and-mirror display See it for the crimson, neon, stained-glass refraction See it for what it is, not what you want it to be
Leave a little leather-bound Miranda in the doorway So she won't say a thing Make a little miserable scene out of her I thought we were I thought we had gone
Oh, spare the din your chloroform refrain Pack away those old euphoria grenades Look at all of them reaching Look at all those hands Pulling, grabbing, pushing in the interest of an understanding wasteland