re-trace all them little peculiar lies. fit into yet another bed. choose a side. by the window. or. door. two arms. and a torso. all essential parts come included. the curvature of such a particular spine. you burn between my breasts. and leave a mark on my mind.
re-trace all them little peculiar lies. i ache. you drift. it’s what finger tips ‘nd ligaments vie for. an upper thigh. a few rib bones. three. no. four. from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. with leather n rope. tighter and tighter. you’re a strong-hold of thought. a beautifully inaccessible theory. my hands arrest your throat.
re-trace all them little peculiar lies. ‘nd wonder why you ache. i drift. by the window and bed. you want to come clean. you pray only to what you believe in.
Chocolate Jesus and Nick Cave. i don’t pray no more. between your bed and the door. i know how good sin tastes. i’m the last dirty angel they’ve got.