soviet kitsch when the devil's in a coffin

by Rachel Lynch in

Getting down to the sounds of poor little rich boy and singing my ode to divorce. Like a spiderweb I can never let go of anybody or anything. Dressing like an eclectic mess says a lot more than you'd think. I feel like my soul's eclectic and lacks the ability to let go of anyone or let anything bad happen to them. I'm so protective and careful of the ones closest to me that most times I forget about myself. Blame it on the weekends. God, I need to sit down and think about things.

You were laying on the carpet like you're satin in a coffin. You said, "Do you believe what you're sayin'?" Yeah right now, but not that often.

Take me to the grave yard so I can wake the dead. Mary Ann wants to meet the grave diggers and drink whiskey in the garden. Come back to me, oh endless nights only to be interrupted by the Devil's workday.

Are you dead or are you sleepin'? God, I sure hope you are dead.