On September 14, 2014
On the way up you are dressing one dead
lady making her decent for the grand end.
But when it's all over even the love fails - apart
she's cold, they are all gray.
All your friends skeletons
wanna do, do a dance on your grave.
All dressed up in the silk with the perfect skin,
sweet honey to hold all leveled up with your gold.
Slithering in despair you covered her in curtains
so nobody sees that it's just a matte varnish.
And even the jewels, the worth of her neck;
You've armed her beauty with your bullets.
On the way up there's no more time to run,
there's no more hits to spark,
she's cold and all your friends skeletons
hold her hand without the feelings or the pain.
hold her hand without the feelings or the pain.
In her pink ice they're leaving you no trace to seek
for her the regret, or even the hell.
for her the regret, or even the hell.
You're dying and it's barely the end;
She wanna do it, do all your dread.
