The Bride - When Character Loses Its Colour

The colour, it grows up,
Leaving me all used up.
I cut the gradience
without constant velcro.
You hold that head high,
though you do not go.
So let me slip into grey,
where I'm wastin' away.
The displaced portraits fell
from their frames.
Portraits fell from their frames.
I'll put you down like the dog that you are,
You mess with me and my gut,
you'll be leaving in scars.
You won't forget the taste
of my spit in your face.
When you're only knee deep,
through pictures ablaze.
I'll put you down like the dog that you are,
You mess with me and my gut,
you'll be leaving in scars.
You won't forget the taste
of my spit in your face.
You see me walkin' down the street
you better pick up the pace.
And for a damsel in distress;
you're just a little over dressed,
I'd rather save my air,
that breathes faster elsewhere.
Yeah, yeah.