PlentyEmpty

The sharped edge of
a dead-end line
the vibrating sound
of a sick-to-death fly

you see the light
but then you get blind
you can't get there
if you dont give up

Put on your make up
put on your sexy wear
get on the corner
and pray you where dead

breath the holly ghost
from the golden pot
feel how the devil
posses your soul

this have no lyrics
this have no sounds
we are not even there
we are in the back of your mind

we are the voice
that's becoming "they"
we are the smile
deforming your face.