|
Suspicious in bright light, |
|
Too much red rim around the white, |
|
Cheap silk that wraps the body tight, |
|
And one by one, seconds drip by |
|
There's nothing they can do to her, |
|
That hasn't been done before, |
|
Bit it's sweet they try. |
|
Not a single tree in sight, |
|
Fluorescents strip the skin bone dry, |
|
Pock marks fill and shadows fight |
|
There's nothing they can do to her, |
|
That hasn't been done before, |
|
But it's sweet they try, |
|
But it's sweet they try. |
|
One heel is broken, |
|
Her hands do shake, |
|
And ranting is her speech, |
|
Wrong is always on the way, |
|
It makes you watch her, |
|
With all your thoughts deranged, |
|
The challenge is to put her last, |
|
Humility to shame, |
|
There's something in the stare though, |
|
It's not for sure she's there, |
|
Dirty strands to veil the face, |
|
Small tattoos named big mistakes, |
|
She whispers when she talks, |
|
Strangling bottles of escape, |
|
Violent sympathy, white rage, |
|
Violent sympathy white rage |
|
Hold on tight and start to squeeze, |
|
Blank expression in degrees |
|
This is not at all your best, |
|
Try your hardest do your worst, |
|
Try your hardest do your worst, |
|
This is not at all your best, |
|
Hold on tight and start to squeeze, |
|
Blank expression in degrees. |
|
Suspicious in bright light, |
|
Too much red rim around white, |
|
Cheap silk that wraps the body tight, |
|
And one by one, seconds drip by |
|
There's nothing they can do to her, |
|
That hasn't been done before, |
|
But it's sweet they try. |
|
Belted to the waist, |
|
On stilts of trembling, |
|
The locket hinge digs in, |
|
Like marks of teeth on skin, |
|
The memory half dust, |
|
Just shapes of fading rust, |
|
That moves when she's alone, |
|
And speaks to no one home. |
