Weakend Even Angels Can f..ck Like The Devil
The snow was falling gently, but she radiated summer,
And the winter melted at her feet
Her eyes were emerald green, which impeccably matched her frozen cheeks
With her locking lips and with her frosted winter hair
Who could possibly imagine
That the devil would dress herself in Angel's skin
Just to leave an impression?
And the agency agrees: there's nothing quite like ditching your routine -
An updated piece will increase the attendance
And the colors complemented me
I painted every line so perfectly
Even Picasso would bend down on one knee.
She must have read the great reviews
Her hands move faster than mine do.
My shirt was struggling to survive before the sheets could settle
Before the sun could break the skyline, pushing light back into view
Who could possibly imagine
That the devil would dress himself in Angel's skin
Just to leave an impression?
This is nothing more than a reaction to lying face down.
And I'm no longer a service to the ravens anyway.
