by the time I filter down to you
a finger for an invitation
too sane to find the feel
cotton blood in a jewelry box
the last to leave, the last to come
the elevator waits to take you down
she throws a prayer you'll never catch
and i'm not holding on
baby's in the engine room, alright
got the trap door by the feathers
dressing for your date with the dumb anyway
the last to leave, the last to come
the elevator waits to take you down
she throws a prayer you'll never catch
and i'm not holding on
drunken sailor ripe
heart attack station
sharp as pastry
now for baby to find
