You're turning 
I think you're really turning now 
you're moving under the clouds in a Dior gown 
You're moving 
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 
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 
I sold my soul for a kiss of that 66