Pretty, pretty girls
Always falling down

Down, down, an awkward and endless spiral
Perpetually pushed down bottomless staircases

I go again, again, chasing them down the chasm
The cemetary's always so cheerful these days

I wonder, wonder,
Why is that so? Is it the visitors or the mulch?

Temporary dirt is all we are
Got a lucky chance to think, but all we do is-

Gasp, gasp, for petty oxygen
The nitrogen's making my brain burst

Or maybe, just maybe
It's the way I catch myself-

Talking, talking, to the empty and rotten air
Or is the red, red moon listening to my cries?

What a funny idea, we like to think somebody listens
But the reactions are hazy-

Dim, dim, like the picture quality my eyes now see
After years of lying on my back and staring at the sun

My only reprieve

Being the cotton in the stratosphere

Intervening between the sheets

That seperate lying teeth

And shy, quivering lips

I can't taste

Anymore