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    Sex-Eye-Make-Up

    Glove

    Run around the chairs in your Sunday dress
    It's the best thing money can buy
    Or leave me on the stairs with my feet in the air
    I think that I'm jazzy like Christ

    One more cigarette and the car burns slow
    Burning like the body waiting at home
    Throw out your teeth and call all your friends
    Someone's coughing took away my breath
    Inches of glass all shiny and new
    Screaming laughing fucks me to death

    One more boy full of writhing white mice
    Rolls over again in a London disguise
    The blood bath woman in room number one
    Sex-eye-make-up tonight
    She just woke up today to do as she's told
    Do you want to touch her?

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