It matters not if I'm right or wrong.
You, small voice in the evening hall, you are wrong.
Loneliest shroud of bitter withdraw
It's all fascade, fascade, fascade.
You hear, she's raw.
It matters not if I heart or I sting
You broken stragg of frayish string
Cauliflower brink of deadly mislead
Its all make-believe, i believe, i believe
You here, extreme.
Pinot princess under hipster ragu
and every slithering strip of Kachu
The slanderous result of amour perdue
coming all over the slanted of You.
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