Monticello

Watered down, letters of hate. Creep on me, I've watched that water drip into mud. As charred fingers stab at my eyes. No regrets can touch this soul, cause I'm a devil in a three-piece suit. That good old green paint on paper, prostitute. For now four walls closing, stabbing at my fate. Dirt starts starring down, that barrel turning water into wine, it never seemed so sweet. Turning faith into blind, it never was to easy.