The curtained scene amassed and sold out with a train of ghosts And on it's knee in an aisle sold off all the clouds And the harpsichord man takes a bow in a suit of dazzling silver The spotlight hits him like a dead grey moan He takes the microphone Ladies and gentlemen This is the death composition What is Killing Suppression It sounds dead. To court Our love He smashes the keys with the bone and blood The sun scratches at his window He's tied to the songs A bag of blood He's dying in A crescendo The crowd whispers and he begins to speak Ladies, Gentlemen, most have escaped it and And I've done nothing I stained glass from the pistol ball and I And I used it for lyrics I saw the picture try eating gravel and I And deharmonized it I hurt that some may model it first and then I And I sing it to the thin breeze I am the dumb sins of tape We're cornered backalley skull fractured lies The sins are in sound Razorburn razorburn And dying the portraits have seen Your commitment sell smiles And dying (as you die as you die kissed by the razorblade) there's a man There's a man in the hall just on the left The scene is pulsing The smell of candles burning lips Police are coming Police are coming With the guns in their hand Always they're coming With the guns in their hands What is Choking Depression It sounds dead Medic Come quick The audience gasps as the keys close Dear god Horror A dead note ringing on the harpsichord