Beaten my mouth to yours, again and over I heard you sobbing. Head dumped in your hands like you were washing your face in tears. And I swear I never really cared and I said I did, my focus inward. My soul, a soft glow set inside a flesh stone. Burning to fade. Burning to fade. Burning to fade.

Somewhere around the valley of the rouge, pissing cheap words on handbills and riding with death. Where all the lucky ones get ruined. When you'd rather get ruined than half eaten 'cause we're all beaten. Rather fluent in bruises, defeated and we're all afraid but so brave. But from womb to grave and everything in between it gets real fucking mean, and you wondy why I drink? I wonder why we're not all drunks sunk in our dumps where nothing changes. But at least we don't have to play. Faces wax fact repossessed, collapsed jaws, blood-nosed faces, playing the lotto when they know they should be drinking 56, 12, 27 and 12. Even though I bet, I cheat myself.

Maybe it's not me going crazy. Maybe this place has gone crazy outside my skin. Although, if not for this place gone bad. Whose skin shall I stand in? Or whose skin is this? Is it mine or his? Is it these or those? Who knows?

Eating the trash without strings in the middle of everywhere. The world is a tomb. Stacking bodies on top of buildings and vice versa. A child floating in womb dead as Kennedy. A mother picking fragments of herself, off the black tiles of a sad and burning hospital. He was going to be a leader.

Down by the old cemetary where the presidents rot, down by the tombstones beyond the moaning gates where the old men wait, well-dressed and underground. Yes the black buzzards smile. Oh yes, the gates moan. Calling for me to rescue. They all weep into my bones. Summer dress. Handsome smile. Lovers lips. Ah her cure. The moans calling her to rescue. There she is, enter Simone. I swear we're all there. Right there, we moan, calling her to rescue. "We pray you never leave us, our singing somber mistress," they said.