My knuckles are bleeding On your front door And these flowers are wilting In the rain They were for you Now they're for no one They are as meaningless As mercenaries a time of peace They are smoke Twisting off the lips of a movie star Here is a boy With paper skin Who longs to touch the girl Of broken glass She loves it when he wears His skin like that She loves it when he wears His skin like that In tatters In tatters