Witches never look like witches do in your mind's eye And when blackbirds peck out your green eyes, I won't be able to act surprised Well I wish I knew a way out, but the woods are closing in on you And your coven is all around, and I'm stuck holding the matchbook now Your veil is frost-soaked and shining As it skirts your low neckline Put it off, my offbeat acolyte When you die, do it beside me The left wing has been clipped like a shrub and the right wing is on designer drugs But don't mind me—I'm just a man who began to suspect he was made out of glass Your veil is frost-soaked and shining As it skirts your low neckline Put it off, my offbeat acolyte When you die, do it beside me