The End

Now come one, come all, to this tragic affair
Wipe off that make up, for sin is to spare
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot
You might wake up and notice you’re someone your not

If you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see
You can find out first hand what it’s like to be me
So gather round ladies and kiss this goodbye
And encourage those smiles, and then split you might fly

Oooh

Another contusion, my funeral track, has my resignation
A servulant lack, you’ve got front row seats to the penitent spot
When I grow up I want to be nothing at all

Yeah, say yeah, yeah, come on

Give me your hand in my hand
Tell me that your, tell me that one day
If you can hear me, just walk away