Antique bottles of perfume
Reticello castings from the light begin to loom
And if I have to listen to one more religious sermon
Well, I'll go home and dig myself a grave
Oh how time heals pain
Well how
When I feel so ill
Have you heard me howling still
About the moon being too hard to kill
Whom decided flowers were destined to wilt
How to justify whose blood to spill
Twisting like a tourniquet
The saints of evil eye are always quick to make a bet
And if I have hear the atoms stir inside my home
I think I'd spend time outside them all
Oh how kind it was of you
Why did God take everyone so soon
When was I the last one in the room
But I don't care about how I feel
But I hate that it's lonesome
And I haven't found much appeal
But I guess that I'm old now
Well I haven't healed the years that scars were born
All these days forgetting how to mourn
But maybe things will get better tomorrow
