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Black Market Radio
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Attic Light
They wear the wool, that hides the teeth they bare
when your not home, with painted faces...
Lilly-white, yellow smiles that sharpen like a knife,
there's no one, no one...
Shallow secrets follow, worth keeping...
I'm not sure we're still alive, they counterfeit our
blessings through the crosses on their eyes...
I'm not sure we're still alive, they count the bones
with no confessing underneath the attic light...
Coat and tie, veiling flesh that crawls through
wandering eyes, whiskey breathing, the lies...
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Cigarette stains chew another life, there's no one,
knowing...
Hollow victims follow, pretending...
I'm not sure we're still alive, they counterfeit our
blessings through the crosses on their eyes...
I'm not sure we're still alive, they count the bones
with no confessing underneath the attic light...
And no one knows...
And no one knows...
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