Im Gonna Shoot

And I miss you when you're gone
 He leaves me with a box of pearls kissing pearls with no mouths
 Conceived in a birdcage she grows
 The apple of her father's eye
 Swimming in a fountain of milk
 Built from bricks at the heart of thickness
 I can feel her fingers spread to the beat of a kick drum
 She will beautiful and we already know her name
 I've already laid eyes on the eyes on the apparition of my daughter
 She's got that touch of you that makes her glow
 Softest harmony, sung aloud
 And she will be beautiful
 Our choir girl
 Venora
 (taste me, embrace me, our choir girl).
 Mother natures got craftsmanship
 While producing ghostly fruits
 She crept behind the woodwork gracefully speechless