Baby, It's Cold Outside

Quarter After Eight, your soul is art that decorates a blank paper.
Mary don't you weep,
Even though I fancy the howling sound of your harmonica. 

Your taste becomes a fence and within it you slobber in the sea of sameness.
And never otherness.

Fate tries to conceal me by suppressing my lips to form an unknown smile
For they say a face is a mask that allows us to unmask ourselves.
Cigarette stained lies, do not tell me to smile.

Mary don't you mourn, looking at the reflection and seeing everything you hated in the shadow where i stood
Reminiscing about how that goldfish kind of love was never my kind of wonderful

"Ain't nothing to it, really, just a simple flex of a muscle"

Flay my skin
Stuff blood diamonds in my mouth
Inject surrealism into my blood stream
Just do not bend my knees and tell me to smile