The neon horror is gone
The pigment, black eyes, rise up
And away, down there in voids
She speaks of toil and dreams
Those cold hands grip glass and sweat
She touches bubbles and howls
The moon echoes her soft voice
And she sleeps doused in fire
The neon horror is gone
The pigment, black eyes, rise up
And away, down there in voids
She speaks of toil and dreams
Those cold hands grip glass and sweat
She touches bubbles and howls
The moon echoes her soft voice
And she sleeps doused in fire
