The Teeth Collector - Pretty Girls Make Graves

I’m unfolding little scraps of paper

I’m dotting 'I's and crossing 't's

Like a ghost your were the gardener

That snuck in and planted seed

Decay

Your word’s acidic taste

I’m unfolding little scraps of paper

But I’ll pluck you like a dead bug from my feet

No more voices on the radio

No more waiting by the telephone

Arrows aim to crack rib cages

But your venom’s weak in my blood

Your poison scabs, coagulated

Your hardest try is never enough

Decay

Your word’s acidic taste

I’m unfolding little scraps of paper

But I’ll pluck you like a dead bug from my feet

This tooth is rotten, yank it out

Your words are cancer in my mouth

This captain’s ship is going down