Someone put a rock through this mirrored ceiling
Someone make a bed of the shards
Lay me down one more time
Someone take a paintbrush to the amber skin
In my eyes
She could never be restored
Only touched up.
She opens up her children's eyes and she asks me again:
How would you like to be paid?
(Love is in a backstreet sewer with a tangled face)
Your eyes, two dancers on twisting floors, like
A cheap souvenir that I bought,
On a medicinal line,
And then betrothed to be mine
Sins, awash with the fall,
My fingers could not find their way to the door
She opens up her children's eyes and she asks me again:
How would you like to be paid?
(Love is in a backstreet sewer with a tangled face)
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