Witches never look like witches do in your mind's eye
and when blackbirds peck out your green eyes, I won't be able to act surprised
Well I wish I knew a way out, but the woods are closing in on you
and your coven is all around, and I'm stuck holding the matchbook now
Your veil is frost-soaked and shining
as it skirts your low neckline
Put it off, my offbeat acolyte—
when you die, do it beside me
The left wing has been clipped like a shrub and the right wing is on designer drugs
But don't mind me—I'm just a man who began to suspect he was made out of glass
Your veil is frost-soaked and shining
as it skirts your low neckline
Put it off, my offbeat acolyte—
when you die, do it beside me
