|
Listen up, sweetie, we all know |
|
That you're a beautiful girl in this horrible world |
|
In this suggestion of horror, the portraits on the walls |
|
Look at their eyes, they always seem to follow |
|
Look at their eyes, they always seem to follow me |
|
Out of tune this tale of terror |
|
The solemn tolling of the funeral bells |
|
I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours |
|
Where every day's a Bone Palace Ballet |
|
Biting the flesh from your finger |
|
You know I just can't help myself |
|
I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard |
|
May this light never see morning, as finally one will not |
|
Maybe you're the one that's overrated |
|
Shriek and scream, much too horrified to speak |
|
Out of tune this tale of terror |
|
The solemn tolling of the funeral bells |
|
I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours |
|
Where every day's a Bone Palace Ballet |
|
Every day, [Incomprehensible] |
|
This morning I woke up, I rubbed my eyes |
|
And I took a quick glance around the room |
|
And saw what happened here last night |
|
There was blood on the walls |
|
And the sheets smelled like sweat and sex |
|
We have narrowed it down to the butcher knife |
|
And the mockingbird with the blood |
|
Out of tune this tale of terror |
|
The solemn tolling of the funeral bells |
|
I want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours |
|
Where every day's a Bone Palace Ballet |
