Sweet Sweet Heartkiller

In her youth she made tons of pence
 ghost-penning songs for big hair aristocrats.
 Now she lies in a plush, velvet bed,
 shaped like a coffin and filled with bats.
 And she is pale and I am smitten
 and in the moonlight we both still like
 the smell of anything night blooming,
 and she bites through the necks like Ginsu:
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller.
 Next to walls that jut from the earth
 like frozen trajectories of superheroes,
 we nibble and jest about things that drain and the taste of lust.
 And she is over here
 and I am over there
 and the unlucky dark cloud is in the middle.
 We like to time ourselves,
 we like to watch ourselves,
 and her winks cut through me like a Ginsu:
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller.
 And everything's good
 and everything's fine
 and everything's bitter like sweet things should be,
 when I'm sinking my teeth into her:
 my sweet heartkiller,
 my so sweet heartkiller,
 my so sweet heartkiller,
 my so sweet heartkiller,
 my sweet sweet heartkiller.