You're turning, yeah I think you're really turning now

You're moving under the clouds in a Dior gown

You're moving, yeah I think you're really moving now

You're spinning out of control on the ground



It tears in the morning

It tears at the face that hides what you've become

Just lipstick 66, cold hands moving

Walking with the upright beasts of your choosing



Golden thread, I sold my soul for a bit of that golden thread

Golden thread, I sold my soul for a kiss of that 66



Your midwestern smile of cool haystack autonomy

Smash into the stare of the silent economy

It tears in the evening

It stares at you from the bathroom mirror at night

Lipstick 66, everyone's staring

Watching for the cue to destroy what you're wearing



Golden thread, I sold my soul for a bit of that golden thread

Golden thread, I sold my soul for a kiss of that 66