Nothing really matters wearing X's on your eyes
She'll stay shaded in disguise
The faded memory of bruise and lullaby
Wings pulled from a butterfly
Arch-angelic, pessimistic
Not quite a saint nor divine
Misanthropic, just one click away from the end of all time
There's less to heaven, there's more to hell
With X's on her eyes, she'll surely tell
And I'll wait here with my heart in my hands
She'll reach into the coldest place and dreams of bitter times
Indignities and last of goodbyes
I'll be your vision of hate
I'll be your poison, your fate
I'll be the gun, I'll be the knife
I'll be your afterlife
