Slipping out of darkness past
He's running to the light
Feeding on the fading gold
No longer in the night
He's made it home
Has he really made it home?
When his room became a coffin he covered it in gold
All he said was a lie
All he said was a fucking lie
And while he sits in walls
Panneled silver misery
Sipping on putrid Chardonnay
And all twisted filigree
He thinks of what is happening
Living the American dream
He's turned into a whore
Cold realization in the porcelain gleam
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