Shadow box with perfect sound

Pick up the blue, follow through

A cinematic experience

From the gut I ask you

Who's the blackest of them all?

And is he 65 or not at all?

Pixie Jane still comes through

Works for money, gives to you

And I can tell the clothes she wears

Her laughs are punk rock insecurity

Is she a Belly or a reject by her own design or need?

Never real, always true

More than sure to see you through

And there's a game we like to play

It seems to me explains away the need

To shoot an arrow at some angel face we all refuse to see

Here there little Lucifer!

Your matchbook burns, your friends all call you

By your second name, thats it!

A new identity. Now reason: drugs