Pretty Girls Make Graves

Upon the sand, upon the bay
There is a quick and easy way, you say
Before you illustrate
I'd rather state
I'm not the man you think I am
I'm not the man you think I am

And sorrow's native son
He will not smile for anyone
And pretty girls make graves

End of the pier, end of the bay
You tug my arm, and say
Give in to lust, give up to lust
Oh, heaven knows we'll soon be dust
Oh, I'm not the man you think I am
I'm not the man you think I am

And sorrow's native son
He will not rise for anyone
And pretty girls make graves
(Oh, really?)

I could have been wild and I could have been free
But nature played this trick on me
She wants it now
And she will not wait
But she's too rough
And I'm too delicate

Then, on the sand
Another man, he takes her hand
A smile lights up her stupid face
And well, it would

I lost my faith in womanhood
I lost my faith in womanhood
I lost my faith

(Hand in glove)
(The Sun shines out of our behinds)