Letra original
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Oil slick waves atop a skull face/mask.
A halo for a
grin claims sincerity purest, bad news scrolling across marquee slate
teeth like an aesthetic cliche.
Smiling eyes like four hundred tongued
courtesies.
And you're cataracted at a green light, hearing only the
feel-good headlines and ginger catch phrases heard three blocks down the
road.
Flies to the prophet, bread to the spectator.
