Testo Let Your Ego Die

The clock is a ring on her fingerThat she checksWhen she's out of time.The cigarette's a spikeIn thes pur of the momentDigging in her side.She cuts the paper with nailsAnd her pen is bleeding poetry.Nervous from the sex that she gotAnd the wine that she spilledOn her clean, white, white sheets.Like to see you, baby,All torn up inside.Girl you're dead alreadySo just let your ego die.Girl you're dead alreadySo just let your ego die.Die, die, die.