You're turning I think you're really turning now you're moving under the clouds in a Dior gown You're moving I think you're really moving now you're spinning out of control on the ground It tears in the morning it tears at the face that hides what you've become Just lipstick 66 cold hands moving walking with the upright beasts of your choosing Golden thread I sold my soul for a bit of that golden thread I sold my soul for a kiss of that 66 Your midwestern smile of cool haystack autonomy smash into the stare of the silent economy it tears in the evening it stares at you from the bathroom mirror at night Lipstick 66 everyone's staring watching for the cue to destroy what you're wearing Golden thread I sold my soul for a bit of that golden thread I sold my soul for a kiss of that 66