murder = white out.
  cancer = birth blouse.
  mirror = perfect glass spouse.
  oil = sex paint.
  shower = water saint.
  Death decodes the howls from our hands.
  skull = noise nest.
  TV = fuck test.
  mirror = siamese gun kiss.
  sugar = birth bait.
  murder = loves fate.
  death distills the camouflage from our dance.
  death inverts the red from romance.
  Death x-rays the angels of chance.
  death; the anti mirror of infants.
  Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche.
  oil = sex paint.
  shower = water saint
  When cecilia's grave cracked like a dirt cacoon,
  she pulled up a stool at the silhouette saloon.
  The player piano mumbling crippled jigs,
  black widows knitting victimless wigs.
  When cecilia's throat slit like a second set of lips
  she drooled braille bibles onto the brothel bed spread,
  like an egg whose yoke defies child bearing hips.
  Like a ghost who fears all of the deceased and dead.
  (time eats all the flesh and spits out the shadow like a useless wishbone.)
  But that locket spinning around her neck,
  whose hearth heats a dead valentine,
  and the paper trail leads where,
  to a muted grave, yeah.
  Where is his voice now?
  A dead tone in the flutter of drunken wings,
  Where is his blushed cheek now,
  A face unraveled in shadow, veiled in blind laughter.
  Where are those sex ripened lips,
  Where is love now?
  um ba ba ba umbaaa
    murder = white out.
  cancer = birth blouse.
  mirror = perfect glass spouse.
  oil = sex paint.
  shower = water saint.
  Death decodes the howls from our hands.
  skull = noise nest.
  TV = fuck test.
  mirror = siamese gun kiss.
  sugar = birth bait.
  murder = loves fate.
  death distills the camouflage from our dance.
  death inverts the red from romance.
  Death x-rays the angels of chance.
  death; the anti mirror of infants.
  Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche.
    [ Thanks Rick for correction ]