A Gothic Love Song

I'm clicking your fingers
for a gothic twilight
that actually existed just in your head
your fingernails painted black
Oh blah red
I forget

and your fake leather volumes
jabbering on hell
manifest decadence
what's what you hoped to exhale
your eyes tried so hard to glitter

a star nothing black
so you open till books
and you open two legs
and so open to heart
I'm to let in the bath miss
you claimed ask your friend
with on the Angels hovering
like flies around the orchard
that it covers your soul
their empire increasing
I'm 20 country this
so touched by your self

the bells of Saint Mary
Coyle so to remember
but life is with end
and the Justice can kill us
moreover destroy
and there's one judgement only

your letters came daily
in French or in German
what they meant to me nothing
I called the slow cold and dry ice
fucking your mind

I see all too clearly now
why you should be discarded
and so I could pray for you
I probably shan't

having had my cup filled up
with your lies
and your make-up
you were nothing
thinking you're something
I'm not on the list
I still write
this gothic love song
a sign to myself
I'm the memory of my pasta
I still ride to discuss the club song
on the memory of my pasta
on the way to shut out
your face

***

I warned about the weird songs, didn't I? Make some wishes, please do. As long as I know the song well enough and it's not Bieber, I'll sing it and put it here. Okay? Ah, right, we're still missing the right lyrics. Here they are.