She’s a cool Goth angel
splattered on the floor,
pictured dead in her long black dress.
She’s made this statement before.
Even when I’m on acid,
she keeps that shade of red
all around her bone white face,
like roses growing out of her head.

Damn!
Who would be her man?
Damned.
Well, I guess I am.

She’s faking death by aggression.
That photo is a sign of the times
kinda like my obsession.
So don’t you say it’s a crime
when I can get over
and put her under me.
You would pay to see the picture
that I’ll be painting for free.

Damn!
Who would be her man?
Damned!
Well, maybe I am.

(bridge)
I’m grinning like the devil
being served something hot
I can smell her afterlife
now that I got the money shot.
You say you know karazy?
Well, I’m half insane,
and the other half is out to lunch
when I get into my games.

Damned?
Let me tell you,

it’s a matter of culture,
look where her head was at,
playing like she was murdered.
Man, what is up with that?
Now, she’s a cold Goth angel
splattered on the floor.
Another case file photograph.
She won’t be screaming for more.

Damn!
Who would be her man?
Damned!
You know that I am.