Sex-eye-make-up

Glove

Run around the chairs in your Sunday dress


It's the best thing money can buy


Or leave me on the stairs with my feet in the air


I think that I'm jazzy like Christ





One more cigarette and the car burns slow


Burning like the body waiting at home


Throw out your teeth and call all your friends


Someone's coughing took away my breath


Inches of glass all shiny and new


Screaming laughing fucks me to death





One more boy full of writhing white mice


Rolls over again in a London disguise


The blood bath woman in room number one


Sex-eye-make-up tonight


She just woke up today to do as she's told


Do you want to touch her?