In her arm the bruises charm
all the pain in her bed
In her arm the bruises charm
all her vanity's dead

Feeling disconnected like a kitten's purr on angel dust
Tramps and deviants own the floor, where they're healing
something that the hornets gave you
to lull your eyes
talking with a sugar tongue
one more dive

Slow slow lullaby, tell me who's not right

In his mouth the taste goes sour
he's been spinning too long
In his mouth the taste goes sour
he'll wing up all wrong