© 1992

She brings me colours, white wine and roses
And then we paint our faces and pwder our noses
She gives me her halo and I hang it next to mine
Reads to me Mishima like a honeymoon valentine
She's an architect of pleasure and she fashions me a fountain
she leads me through the clouds to the peak of the highest mountain
We dare the heavens on a chariot that we borrow
Tonight she is my cradle, but
Who will love me tomorrow?

Cold turkey Cindy pulls the mirrors from the wall
Walks barefoot on the broken glass and stumbles in from the hall
she's shooting paper tigers with the needle that she's borrowed
Tonight she is my pillow, so
Who will love me tomorrow?

Must I sing so low to get so high?
I can't purge myself of demons and I don't know the reason why
My heart feels like a battlefield and all my soldiers lie slain
I'll never be clean, I'll never be pure again

She greets me like a siren and all her lights are flashing
She invites me to her dungeon with the promise of a lashing
And with a smile like a sunrise playing on her lips
She shows me her collections of butterflies, scars, and whips
With fingernails like claws she leaves keepsake souvenirs
Like trenches on my back she bathes in saccharine scented tears
I feel just like an actor in a play called "Dear Friend Sorrow"
Tonight she is my refuge, but
Who will love me tomorrow?