Methhead Botticelli

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Methhead Botticelli

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 The easy, fast & fun way to learn how to sing: 30DaySinger.com

Trash on the beach, as an unholy a scene, as could ever man made be
Kids fly by like they're venison, curing skin and feet, far from shade
Waves rise up and fall down, slip and slide and pass by
Leaving flotsam cans and cigarette butts, plastic trash that her blue eyes can't hide

A lady flounders on the sandy glide, slips from her feet, as she tries to land
He tries to catch her, but she slips on through, as if she was made of sand
He meet her eyes but she can't hold her stare, he feels she's been bruised deep inside down there
Loose teeth, tobacco smell, deprecated innocence from endless fight affairs

Bright blue sky
Eyes, distorted beauty pictured,
He questioned how it ever came to this

Methhead Botticelli, lost in her master's addiction spell
Her paintbrush now a needle, a living self-portrait of hell
Her vision now a memory, of faded tragedy
A sadistic statistic melody, Methhead Botticelli

Off a gravel road, in her Ozark abode, stood a trailer called The Many Plenty
She'd left them all behind in the city, for a life with him in this li'l shanty
Got a dog and the man, both were easy living; she looks a lot like forty but only twenty
Framed out in the fainted country sky, she'd chosen to pose for her own demise

Methhead Botticelli
Just a drag-to ease the scene
Burning skin, falling fast, now it's not so funny
A white dress for the wedding, a mourning veil instead of sunscreen, honey

Skin burning off the canvas, colors fading so fast, and losing money
You were a masterpiece, until last night, weren't you honey

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