The curtained scene amassed and sold out with a train of ghosts   And on it's knee in an aisle sold off all the clouds   And the harpsichord man takes a bow in a suit of dazzling silver   The spotlight hits him like a dead grey moan   He takes the microphone   Ladies and gentlemen   This is the death composition      What is   Killing   Suppression   It sounds dead.   To court   Our love   He smashes the keys with the bone and blood   The sun scratches at his window   He's tied to the songs   A bag of blood   He's dying in   A crescendo   The crowd whispers and he begins to speak      Ladies, Gentlemen, most have escaped it and   And I've done nothing   I stained glass from the pistol ball and I   And I used it for lyrics   I saw the picture try eating gravel and I   And deharmonized it   I hurt that some may model it first and then I   And I sing it to the thin breeze   I am the dumb sins of tape   We're cornered backalley skull fractured lies   The sins are in sound   Razorburn razorburn   And dying the portraits have seen   Your commitment sell smiles   And dying (as you die as you die kissed by the razorblade) there's a man   There's a man in the hall just on the left   The scene is pulsing   The smell of candles burning lips   Police are coming      Police are coming   With the guns in their hand   Always they're coming   With the guns in their hands      What is   Choking   Depression   It sounds dead   Medic   Come quick   The audience gasps as the keys close   Dear god   Horror   A dead note ringing on the harpsichord