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The Quiet Few

de Tomahawk

You've got to be the one
Smile of porcelain
Bullet holes in your tongue
Plexiglass bones
Dough of angel's breath
The eyes of a mannequin
Put on a hell of a show

Solid gold, fresh young face
Queen of a lovely place
Cynical life, wash your face
Trying to make it better

And we've heard this song before
And the needle skips again
Playing dominoes with tombstones
Found a graveyard in your drawer
Go and get yourself buried
'Cause you're dead, you're dead, you're dead, you're dead

Your skin melts in wax
Woven silk eyelids
The arms of somnambulist
You got your money's worth
Soul hangs in the closet
Papier-mâché heart
Put on a hell of a show

Solid gold, your hate crime
Wasn't loving me
Cynical life, wash your face
Trying to make it better

And we'll never make it better
And we'll never make it better

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