Well now, don't you look pretty.
Sitting up there,
With your nose in the air,
but with a pinch of pity.
Could it be that maybe I don't care?
Or should you cross the wires...
If not for the fires,
that burn so bright with piece of misery.
I can't explain, but maybe you?
For the deals we make,
our souls we break,
We cannot get back.
Trust him he's tried,
but Satan don't lie.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Well now, don't you look pretty.
Sitting up there,
With your nose in the air,
but with a pinch of pity.
Could it be that maybe I don't care?
Or should you cross the wires...
If not for the fires,
that burn so bright with piece of misery.
I can't explain, but maybe you?
For the deals we make,
our souls we break,
We cannot get back.
Trust him he's tried,
but Satan don't lie.
