yesterday's dye still shines on your face
I put it there, in every beloved place
you hated the way my hands on you feel
but to me, this way you will look more real

kalina and glitter and fresh graveyard sand
are finer than jewels when applied by my hand
your skin feels like lace, it is already cold
oh why must you die? why must you grow old?

will you come back when god throws you away?
will the devil take you down to hell to stay?
or will you come back on the wings of a bird?
sing me a folk song, make your voice heard.