| Eyes like a slash across her face
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| Lips I’d kill a man to taste
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| Whatever this stuff is, I’m buying
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| Whatever it does, I’ll do it 'til I’m dying
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| I can’t wash her away
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| It’s getting under my skin
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| I can’t wash her away
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| I can feel her closing in
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| Hands like a carnival of queens
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| Hair like a heart attack of dreams
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| A voice so soft you could cut it with a kiss
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| Screams so small you could hold them in your fist
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| Little white fingertips running up your back
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| Little needling scores where her nails leave a track
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| I can’t wash her away
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| She’s living in my skin
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| I can’t seem to wash her away
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| I can feel her closing in
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| Eyes like a slash across her face
|
| Lips so damn sweet you’d cut your tonuge out for a taste
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| Whatever this stuff is, I’m buying
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| If she’s nothing but a coffin least she’s good enough to die in
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| She’s a ballroom full of dancing chairs
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| She’s a child in disguise hiding bullets in her hair
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| A voice so soft you could cut it with a kiss
|
| Screams so small you could hold them in your fist
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| Every one night stand is a six week stretch
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| Craving her arms twisted up around your neck
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| Skin so white, a heart so pure
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| If you opeden up her veins you’d see the light run through her |