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I'm a junkyard full of false starts
and i don't need your permission
to bury my love under this bare lightbulb
The moon is a sickle-cell
i'll kill you in time
your cold white brother alive in your blood
like spun glass in your sore eye
While the moon does it's division
you're buried below
and it's coming up roses everywhere
you've gone red roses fall in love
The things that you tell yourself
they'll kill you in time
your cold white brother alive in your blood
spinning in the night sky
While the moon does its division
you're buried below
and it's coming up roses everywhere
you've gone red roses
So you got in a kind of trouble
that nobody knows
it's coming up roses everywhere
you've gone red roses.