Suspicious Embraces at the Museum of Dental Malpractice

You're not as dead
As you're pretending to be

Angel hair thin
Slivers of enamel

Insides of the cat
Sticking to the gravel

Let's embrace
As the organs unravel

You're porcelain grin
Off-centre of chin

Not a smile but a fault line
I can't feel a single fucking thing

Eat these fucking teeth
Pluck them one by one

I want to see you swallow
Every last fucking one

Eat these fucking teeth
Suck the pulp, chew the dentin

They don't deserve the time
They have spent in me

Are we going to do this?
What tools do you need?
Just a towel
And a whole lot of heaving

I staggered out
With crimson mouth
32 trenches
Of near perfection



Credits
Writer(s): John Atkins
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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