Prostitute candlelit evenings perfumed scent of money. Lipstick, bloodstains, and champagne fade to permanent white. And so they died and no one could be found. You have become a memory. And so they died and no one could be found. And no one could be found to bury the dead for money, or for pleasure. I think I'll take this to the grave, It is too easy to remember the risks involved. And for these risks, I will never give up. I am not the one who is dead, you are can't your read your eyes.