Paper Moon Scars

Lipstick is smudged, the ice melts in the glass,
You promised heaven, but brought a cold transaction at last.
A cardboard prop hangs heavy right above my bed,
Our old circus burned down, leaving ghosts in my head.
You lit up the flame, then looked away from the spark,
I saw every move coming, but kept walking in the dark.
Now the jazz plays softer than the pain inside my soul,
And a worn-out shawl drinks the bourbon I let roll.


Same old game again, same bittersweet end,
You never knew who I was, my lover and my friend.

Припев
These are the scars of a paper moon on the floor,
Dancing alone in this smoky corner, asking no more.
Cheap decorative comfort bursting right at the seams,
You traded all my secrets for someone else’s dreams.
Through cuts in the cardboard, the dark curtain falls into place,
These paper moon scars are all that’s left of my grace.


You erased the line where passion turns into guilt,
Leaving a crumpled melody on the home that we built.
I drowned out the bitterness with strong black tea,
Listening to the record needle scratch relentless and free.
Your cheap excuses smell of foreign perfume and lies,
Yet I stand at this microphone under heavy dim skies.
Fragile stage light bleeds across the wooden floor,
Where our palace used to stand, there’s just a shadow, no more.


Smash that fake prop disc, tear it down off the wall!
Before our own conscience we both stand and fall.
You thought your sharp words would break my spine in two,
But this stage goes up in flames tonight, and so do you!
End this cheap little drama right now, we are through!

Припев
These are the scars of a paper moon on the floor,
Dancing alone in this smoky corner, asking no more.
Cheap decorative comfort bursting right at the seams,
You traded all my secrets for someone else’s dreams.
Through cuts in the cardboard, the dark curtain falls into place,
These paper moon scars are all that’s left of my grace.


Same old game again, same bittersweet end,
You never knew who I was, my lover and my friend.

Припев
These are the scars of a paper moon on the floor,
Dancing alone in this smoky corner, asking no more.
Cheap decorative comfort bursting right at the seams,
You traded all my secrets for someone else’s dreams.
Through cuts in the cardboard, the dark curtain falls into place...
Yeah, these paper moon scars are all that’s left of my grace.