Time is estranged and so is him.
This devil's angel, this broken picture frame.
Care to give just enough love so that I can barely breathe
One after the other of these enraged night street boys crawling
sucking on pills and blowing lines against the window.
He's no different than those other whores.
Backwards, forwards, left or right
I walk blindly fully aware of the blindfold on my eyes.
More fun if he guides me to the slaughterhouse.
Tear me apart, it feels good to feel forgotten and I have no future
aside from here, again, with another skinny wreck
another psycho goddess
again so what makes me want to leave him?
Nothing only he is my vice and my lungs are sore.
are sore.
they're sore.
From breathing.
