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The Wytches
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The Holy Tightrope
Your late teens are hanging on a wall,
Lowered down to the first five rows.
Convinced me to leave her on her own,
Every breath like a curtain closed.
But I see legs they're up in the air,
There's speech writers with all my tongues.
The holy throne heirs in the basement,
Saddle up me like I was a pavement.
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Between scenes there's dealers making calls, Make a living off of perfect flaws.
The sweat drips while you dribble down the phone,
Innocence left clean off the bone.
But I see legs they're up in the air,
There's speech writers with all your girls.
Holy tightrope, shameless catwalk,
saddle up me, like I was a pavement.
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