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lyrics
She cut her wrists and understood,
The tender light of love glows ghostly here;
In this place of crippling fear;
Where they sell your body in the harbour of dreams;
Look to the sky-line, 'tis late, can you hear the guitars all about?
He thinks of all the things he can buy for a buck;
He's selling plastic roses, while she shivers by the dock;
Then they'll sleep by the window with the tarnished glass. The blemished night.
Outside, the players on the stage, lift the evening by the hem of her dress;
While queenly fingers gently caress, gently caress;
She is there, but hardly there at all;
With eyes all black mists and vague, she didn't hear you call;
Her heart is a stormed palace, full of shouts and burning torches;
Then a slumbering shade of some petrified dread;
And everyday is another bed;
Lying naked to die some, but not quite dead;
On the outskirts of life she seems to dance,
To fill the empty hearses of her screams,
Tonight even the Moon will dream of you.
And this is the place where I speak,
Where I break because I am weak:
My weary soul stopped for the night at the motels of Oblivion,
Where sanity is pillaged by the herd;
And you get to thinking, when will it end?
How far can the bough bend?
She strolls to where the light is; the plastic flowers; The Motels;
She wants a man, not fake songs and wedding bells;
And she thinks of the one she misses.
And how the light reflects off her swollen lip, from his broken kisses;
Tonight, even the city is shrieking, screaming, whispering "Make it stop"
Burning torches light the twilight haze, time to run;
The animal dies when the fear is done;
The cops never came so he left with the gun.
Drowning within a deep narcotic sleep her raven wings take flight and soar;
He was just a boy; bitten by a bullet and then one more;
Another lost soul from the motels of oblivion.
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