one more tooth-white orchid for to sleep as dead. run straight from the cross-roads to the cul-de-sac. what's written in the cold is always cynical. the frost it bites with teeth as sharp as icicle. excuse me nurse, attend my thirst, and for my body call a hearse, and for my love we're gonna throw her bait, and for my hunger we're gonna make it wait all day. one more fruitful hunt before extinction's on. one more poisoned apple before the axe is drawn. send a long last letter without warning me. i've driven out the circus, yes my nights are free.
and if i were you, i'd be scarce. i'm the phoebe in the sun, be the cuckoo in the summer. you're troubled like an ocean and it's me who must go under.
and how am i to rest among these fallen logs. you've pulled up all your fences but you've put out the dogs. everything is made to be well over our heads. the flowers growing on our graves will remind us when we're dead. [chorus].
(c)2004