|
One fatal gift,
Arrived here today.
Heavenly sent,
To the beauticians that pray.
Here comes that face,
And it's a textural treat.
Is this a war?
Is this a god?
New,
Warm,
Skin.
New,
Warm.
Expensive to touch,
It's a novocaine skin.
Beauty; this beast,
Is transparent and thin.
This sun can be cruel,
I don't want to melt.
Is this a war?
Is this a god?
New Warm Skin.
New Warm Skin.
New Warm Skin.
New Warm.
One fatal gift,
Arrived here today.
Contorted dreams,
Of the beauticians that pray.
Crawling out of this heat,
And drifting this way.
Is this a war?
Is this a god?
New Warm Skin.
New Warm Skin.
New Warm Skin.
Is this a war?
Is this a god?
|
