Lyrics:

The amateur camera captures her motion
As perfectly, as the strangle knot confine that she wears on her wrists
The trunk preserves the new car scent of the princess skin
Disinfectant spit, adding luster to chapped lips
If she comes to, I'll tell her that she's beautiful
All these flies have gathered in admiration
Perhaps we should
Offer them a new wound
I think you're right, this isn't really happening
This isn't really happening
Can't get the smell out
Can't get the mascara off the upholstery
This isn't really happening
This isn't really happening
Still everyone keeps laughing at me
Oh god, this is all going to end badly
If you don't wake up, I'll have to stop kissing you
All that flailing has made you sleepy
You rest while I untie you
Stay here until they find you
We've still got some time
Before the reverie ends
I've combed my hair
Brought you your Sunday dress
Tonight we'll magnetize
The eyes of this whole town
My handmade mannequin
I won't let them get you

They'll know you're mine
By the fingerprints on your throat
Isn't she lovely?
Isn't she wonderful?
Like the whores that we are
Swatting flies from the wounds we design
This is not about fear
Paranoia is a disease of the unarmed
This is beauty
A sickening concern
For the transience of flesh
I'll keep my screams behind the gag
I'll keep my baby's breath in a Glad bag