DESCRIPTION:
The pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning.
Just a little bit closer, and with a loose touch I'm here to watch you.
Let's share the stare and turn off the radio.
Downtown skies... (play on our fears) are coming... (they knew where the cancer grows).
Like white horse... riders are mysterious... the pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning.
Just a little bit closer, and with a loose touch I'm here to watch you.
Let's share the stare and turn off the radio.
Downtown skies...(play on our fears) are coming...(they knew where the cancer grows) like white horse...
Riders are mysterious.
Reach out, a pourcelain touch disguised with fingertips below us.
Downtown skies... are coming... like white horse... riders are mysterious...(mother of all whores, mourn her, dressed with pearls, drunk with the blood of saints, she is dead and burning.)