You are the cult to my imaginary scope
So fit to wear the stars of all these cut up vanity folk
I'll shoot the stills of all your paralytic quirks
Awkward and so frivolously spent in our wake
But perfect stems are looking glass
If you're the queen then I'm the crass
I won't let you follow my lead
'Cause secrets are like terriers
Opaque and precarious
We'll fold tongues and swallow our deeds
You are the purse in my apology crest
To harbor subtlety like any poor reputable mess
I took your hand and crawled between the suffocating droll
To tread the face held ahead the speak of our prose
But perfect stems are looking glass
If you're the queen then I'm the crass
I won't let you follow my lead
'Cause secrets are like terriers
Opaque and precarious
We'll fold tongues and swallow our deeds
Well crossing guards are caveats
So dull and spun in parking lots
I won't let you stop being seen
All the auteurs spar with harlots shame
And stoics speak like starlit kane
We're only beggars caught in belief