Miss.Guide

Once was a clown on medicine who kept his crying eyes inside a gown
I longed them like amphetamines. The skin was buried by a pack of hounds

She ran to the infirmary to find I'd stolen every needle there
If love's the cure my memories would surely be a dying bed to bear

The rust lays on the ceiling snowed upon covered for it's shame
Behind the house she's dealing. A gypsy selling postcards for the pain
I'm right below the deck above the iciest of seas
The diamond floor was by the wreck. I've walked upon it since I felt her breeze

Her blue magnetic silence turns the house a white so very pale
The roses, the violins, the mercury and all she has for sale
Her afternoon of melody had stripped all of the coffins from their nails

Miss. Guide with her sincerity lights fires in the windiest of hails