Blades

Four inches of blackening tar clogging up my pores.
And forty cents worth of Woolworths soap,
To leave me smelling like a whore.
My mouth is just a tunnel,
Where the trains don't ever stop.
My teeth are dirty and yellow,
I don't believe I can get these stains off.
I've got to change the blades,
Shave away my sorrow.
Change the blades,
Shave away my sin.
Change the blades,
Cast this spirit from me.
Change the blades,
Carve away my skin.
Well my lips are dry from kissing your arid, barren wasteland,
Embracing the furnace like a child.
Who in the face of adversity,
I should have showered with kisses.
I extinguished all hope,
When I turned on the gas
In my best suit and Californian Poppy,
In a bizarre ceremony of love.
I've got to change the blades,
Shave away my sorrow.
Change the blades,
Shave away my sin.
Change the blades,
Cast this spirit from me.
Change the blades,
Carve away my skin.
Skin, so wafer thin,
Hung out and check for size
Just a pound of flesh gone missing,
And no-one cares where she lies.
There's a felfador on the rose bush,
The smell of lavender oil meets the moss.
I've got the Mark of Cain on my conscience,
I don't believe I can get the stain off.
I've got to change the blades,
Shave away my sorrow.
Change the blades,
Shave away my sin.
Change the blades,
Cast this spirit from me.
Change the blades,
Carve away my skin