The Faces

Bow your head my sweet, hide those soul less eyes. Pull you're stockings up, for the man has much to hide. Curtsy once, cursty twice. Be the puppet on the string. Break free, let the glass of a window cut through you're palms. falling have we chosen to end it all. As our death looms near we jerk awake, to books covered on a desk, the imprints of a keyboard upon thy breast. Staring at the sun, hide it all. Bow you're head my sweet, hide those soul less eyes. Whether in present or in past, we will forever be one. Locked inside this vessel, for all to come. We are neither naughty, nor will we be nice. For a tender touch sends snarls, and a harder cut sends shivers. We do not judge on the outside, for the beasts always lurk far behind. Raise you're head little child, and show to god you're soul less eyes.