The pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning. Just a little bit 
 closer, and with a loose touch I'm here to watch you. Let's share the stare 
 and turn off the radio. Downtown skies... (Play on our fears) are coming... 
 (They knew where the cancer grows) like white horse... Riders are mysterious... 
 The pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning. Just a little bit 
 and turn off the radio. Downtown skies... (Play on our fears) are coming... 
 (They knew where the cancer grows) like white horse... Riders are mysterious... 
 Reach out, a porcelain touch disguised with fingertips below us. Downtown 
 skies... are coming... like white horse... riders are mysterious... (Mother of all 
 whores, Mourn her, Dressed with pearls, Drunk with the blood of saints, she 
 is dead and burning).