Silent stares turn us to a statue-like repose
Black mascara hides the somber affliction
One small sigh of a quiet lullaby
One last night to show what we are made of
We have lost ourselves in a calculated infatuation
Leaving us remains of infamous operations
Its the perfect shape of my heart
I give to you masquerading our abandoned perfections
Behind closed curtains
They cant see what we've become
A bruised and bleeding mochery
Of something that was once so modest
Reduces us to ashes of sin