If You Wear That Velvet Dress

There’s a cold wind blowing on the back of my neck

And the chills keep rising from my core to my fingertips

It’s a place unfamiliar where the sun will neither rise nor set

A land of the waiting for ghosts that we’ve always kept

And I’m the grit in your head

The walking wounded

I’m all the things that all the fallen fell for

I’m a dead man walking

Along the road to my reckoning

And the birds keep screeching

I wonder what they’re trying to say

Cause I’m the grit in your head

The walking wounded

I’m all the things that all the fallen fell for

I can’t find my way back down from here

From here

I’m a marionette moving

Through the scenes of my final play

And the set keeps creaking

I wonder what its trying to say.

I don’t want to lose my head round here

Round here

I can’t find my way back down from here

From here