My pretty pistol tells me I’m going to love this song, but I’m feeling suicide, saying everything will be all right, and everything will be better tomorrow.
Dear god, would you take me down from this fucking cross, and tear my heart open with your broken wings.
My eyes are scarred to shit, my knives were in your back, and I was still desperately biting my finger nails, beyond my flesh, trying to sing my one and only song, saying take me back to the pages in my book that I never existed in, I sing knick, knack, paddy whack, give the bitch a bone, but I’m branded in stone, my bags were filled with sexist grenades, and piercing racist bullets, I packed them away because I am a firm young believer just trying to sing my song, the world was trapped in a prison and you were kicked into the belief of god, and same-sex-sodomization, you’re a fake imitation, thinking the world’s going to change, with your finger on the trigger, you killed my dying dream, killed the seeds in me, and ate the ashes wet, only to be mean to me.
Killing our baby was a shame in our time of loving, remember when I told you to pull that gun out of your ear? And you told me to bake our love to ashes, and label it impotence, but on my behalf, you said shine baby shine, it’s your time to go out loud, to be sold out proud, and to slow the show for the crowd, making the music that the people crave, using hate as bait, pull out a new state of mind, inside to see eyes open wide, and whenever your fans cried, you have yet to sigh and know that at least you’ve tried, to abide your side, now it’s time to act up and to hide what you’ve fucked up, now’s your time to shine baby, time to shine with what’s mine, open up a poltergeist in my eyes, through crime, I’m just another number that was labeled prime, inside I’m live and uncut, ruthless and wild, a suicidal child that’ll shrivel in the coldest weather, wear black leather, swallowing another dose, and being doused in the fire, the pills are on the shelf, but they won’t help me out, I’m just a mental sickness, a sick, sick star, a sick, sick bastard, just a sickly prick from the inside, thought I was a thug, from the west side, but outside was the system of another deadly episode, a time lock, rugged and raw, out of respect, warped and suspenseful, loose, and most dispensful.
Now I’m crawling away from the cross that binded me to my death, left me feeling disgraced and eaten away, but god still sits around the cage and watches me sing another one.
