The Wanderer
Kid A
the Debutantes step ligthly over our hearts,
painting rose petals over each eye lid,
the reflection becomes ghostly pale
in the drops of dew we drink till thirst
they wait for us to mutilate them
painting rose petals over each eye lid,
the reflection becomes ghostly pale
in the drops of dew we drink till thirst
they wait for us to mutilate them