Who wrote those lines on the wall? Let's retrace where
they scrawled ancient characters. It's 2:00, and your
sister's slip falls, and the afternoon crawls across the room
and tackles her. I don't think that you would sink that ship
that's only passing through, because I don't believe that
you might be a murderess. But I saw inside each small,
dark eye, as it was turning blue, all the strength inside to
do just what the captain says and hang the rest.
Moved by the rhyme in the psalm, we agreed that it was
wrong, and to believe in it. Oooh!, swooned the wall all
night long. But a lie's a lie, no matter what guy's breath's
in it. I don't know that I would go that far down some dark
avenue, with a whispering crew of shadows all protecting
it. But I saw inside each small white lie, as it was turning
true, the ability to do all things expected of it.
Oh, murderess, in the wilderness. With your victims all
around you. As their combined love forms a pool your
knife's reflected in, now I'm ready, too, with my throat to
you. On this mountain. By this moon. And what I want
the most to do is prove that I'm not like them.
