The Style Is Death

Under the cold of tears she'll decay and be warm
The style is death
A white rose in a morphine dream
A joke to amuse life
Goodbye into a snowstorm
While you shake the thoughts
Memories of conversation

Come back the line like eager sadness
A knife hollows them out
Hollows them out
A thin skin of black letters
A thin skin of black letters

I make myself sick
Born with thoughts of disappointment
Hands out, palms dry
Give me something to grasp
False truth or fake hope
We say yes to death

A joke to amuse life
Goodbye into a snowstorm
While you shake the thoughts
Memories of conversation

The style is death
The style is death
The style is death
The style is death