satellite of lust
stopping the presses
essentially broken
entrancing machine
never back-step
epileptic idol
old ways are dead
adhere to the lies
essentially broken
entrancing machine  
netting a good one
nearer to mid-life
fed up with the ghost
starting blank again
in a different palace
cemented to space
cemented to space
cemented to space

Next time you make an empty promise
Shatter it against the concrete
And rip open my flesh with the sharpest point,
Pour salt in my wounds
And leave me to rust.
And then tell me again
How it pains you to see me suffer.
Darling, all this time you were killing two birds
With one stone,
But since when can I fly?