Pristine prisons,
probably the prettiest you've ever seen
from your 72-inch flatscreen;
if walls could talk, I hear you'd be in a pretty tight spot
but I'd rather not
shoot my shot with your skeleton crew,
because I've got a little angel, she just fell to earth too soon;
her halo choked her in her mother's womb, so she knows
pristine prisons,
probably the prettiest you've ever seen
windows painted lavender and walls bathed in evergreen;
peach-round face & woodsmoke eyes,
I want to comfort her with soft-spilled lies
but she already knows the horrid truth,
so I'll take her to a dim-lit roof
and talk about the moon.