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I don't know what I'm thinking.Deep purple, a little black and a perfect figureAnd your trust; I don't believe a word you say,Picture postcard to hell.At Windsor Cafe, here with the tea scalding me through,Singeing my skin, singing; singing in the drizzle;And the pidgeons, incense the wreckage of amusements long gone.How are you taking this? Skin warm through fat brickWasp, nettles stinging above our heads.Everytime my coat is a blanket.I'm not sure what you think of me now.And the wine, red and white, flashing on and off like blood flying under the skin;And the noise of it all, clamoring in my ears.I clench my teeth around cigarettes, and the duvet that's not my own.I feel there must be something behind this; peel, peel the layers away,Scarlet surrounding me. Flesh, bright white against the backThe smell of the canvas draws me in; touched, touched by the movements springing under the skin,Words surround waterfalls, but washed away,Trace my spine, undulating, and I flinch away.I feel there must be something behind this; peel, peel the layers away,Scarlet surrounding me. Flesh, bright white against the backThe smell of the canvas draws me in, and I am touched, touched by the movements springing under the skin,Words surround waterfalls, but washed away,Trace my spine, undulating, and I flinch away. Aus Songtexte Mania