Shadow box with perfect sound Pick up the blue, follow through A cinematic experience From the gut I ask you Who's the blackest of them all? And is he 65 or not at all? Pixie Jane still comes through Works for money, gives to you And I can tell the clothes she wears Her laughs are punk rock insecurity Is she a Belly or a reject by her own design or need? Never real, always true More than sure to see you through And there's a game we like to play It seems to me explains away the need To shoot an arrow at some angel face we all refuse to see Here there little Lucifer! Your matchbook burns, your friends all call you By your second name, thats it! A new identity. Now reason: drugs
