Deep creases hide your face. Hide the grease and the taste. Taste of fluid in lace. Lucid, falling from grace. No stories come out of your mouth When your time is out. Children run out of your house With no father tongue. Close your eyes and pretend Ghost stories have an end. End your bet with your friends, All good men are long dead. No stories come out of your mouth When your time is out. Children run out of your house With no father tongue. Center of attention, Waiting to sell For a piece of paper. In God we trust. Waiting for a climax From the hand that's Crawling up your Center of attention, You won't sell your Soul only your body. They're just fingers, Crawling on your nipples Groping for your Center of attention. In God we trust, in God we trust.