swabbing your blood with formaldehyde. whiskey plied, voices cried "fratricide" jesus, don't you know that you coulda died, you shoulda died.
well, she's got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes, and she's got knee high socks for to cover a bruise. she's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use, she's got blood in her eyes, in her eyes for you, she's got blood in her eyes for you.
and she says, i like long walks and sci fi movies, you're six foot tall and east-coast bred. sooner or later we'll get together, and i wanna tie your wrists with leather, and drill a tiny hole into your head.