Waltz around the room, with a glaze in your stare.

In your tuxedo suit. I'll give it a name. Lower

defenses. I'll lower the casket. Open the door.

Open the grave. Murder. Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer......

Waltz around the room, with a glaze in your stare.

In your tuxedo suit. I'll give it a name. Lower

defenses. I'll lower the casket. Open the door. Open the grave.

Mediocrity is the killer.



You find yourself helpless. Christ is not a fashion,

fleeting away. fashion...



He laid emeralds in her eyes, oh but I'd

already tried. a bracelet made of gold and scarlet

thread around her wrist. and everything was wrong so we

sang sentimental songs. Oh how seldom we belong but

how elegant our kiss. and we painted crooked lies but we

danced in perfect time to a love so much refined, we

know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour

into a grief we know before but it's never quite like this. never quite like this.

All I know now is regret, it follows like a silhouette

along the cobblestone behind me, but has nothing to

say except to innocently ask, a voice as delicate as

glass, "Do you see me when we pass?" but I continue on

my way.