Paroles de In Defense Of Her Vanity
1.) You, my ink forged beauty, are an illusion, giving reason to my fusion of the false with the definite. And, ah, your plain text makes confusion. As if you're certain of your losing â all the obvious.But don't let it get you down, for the dirt is for your feet. So keep your face clean, so beauty may be seen. A million figures are clawing and scratching for you, my dear. So don't let their passion go to waste. I mean there's nothing they'll ever have that'll make you stick around. So fly, fly away.
2.) Oh, the bakers and the tailors; all the jesters, clerks, and failures want a piece of our dignity. Followed by the masons and the sailors, and all the lonesome trailers; they ask for my sympathy.
âWhere's your daughter gone? Her beauty calls to me.â
âI'm sorry but she's gone, to the vanity.
âShe often sits near the mirror and cries till she falls asleep. And I believe she's pulling out her hair. She picks and pokes at her skin so much you would not believe. Her soul is a saint up the stairs.
3.) You, my ink forged beauty are illusion, giving reason to my fusion of the famous with the desolate. And, ah! Your pain text makes confusion as if your majesty is losing â all of the evident.
But don't let it smudge your smile, for the soil sings so proud. Just fake it for a while and face toward the crowd.
One million fingers are scratching and clawing for you, my dear. So let those cronies tear you up. Because if you shy from the light you are sure to disappear! Destined to degrade into dust.
âI'm sorry but she's gone, to the vanity.
âShe often sits near the mirror and cries till she falls asleep. And I believe she's pulling out her hair. She picks and pokes at her skin so much you would not believe. Her soul is a saint up the stairs.
3.) You, my ink forged beauty are illusion, giving reason to my fusion of the famous with the desolate. And, ah! Your pain text makes confusion as if your majesty is losing â all of the evident.
But don't let it smudge your smile, for the soil sings so proud. Just fake it for a while and face toward the crowd.
One million fingers are scratching and clawing for you, my dear. So let those cronies tear you up. Because if you shy from the light you are sure to disappear! Destined to degrade into dust.
Paroles powered by LyricFind
