"They all watch while she's on fire

they can see her comming from miles away



she could buy pretty things till' night comes

pretty things are pretty dirty like the rest



the end of all the things that fall

the trace of crimson on the wall



she's tied to the rail till night comes

once the flash hits her eyes she's gone



the end of all the things that fall

the trace of crimson on the wall



smeared from the hand that rubs her thin

a wooden heart in rubber skin

press her face against the glass she's dancing in...



never cry

tears lubricate the sweetest arrest

the nightingale laid to rest"