Shadow box with perfect sound   Pick up the blue, follow through   A cinematic experience   From the gut I ask you      Who's the blackest of them all?   And is he 65 or not at all?      Pixie Jane still comes through   Works for money gives to you      And I can tell the clothes she wears   Her laughs are punk rock insecurity   Is she a belly or a reject   By her own design or need?      Never real, always true   More than sure to see you through   And there's a game we like to play   It seems to me explains away the need      To shoot an arrow at some angel face   We all refuse to see here, there little Lucifer   Your matchbook burns, your friends all call you   By your second name, that's it      A new identity   Now reason, drugs