| Vacate is the word… |
| vengeance has no place on me or her |
| Cannot find the comfort in this world |
| Artificial tear… |
| vessel stabbed, next up, volunteers |
| Vulnerable, wisdom can’t adhere… |
| A truant finds home… and a wish to hold on… |
| But there’s a trapdoor in the sun… |
| Immortality… |
| As privileged as a whore… |
| victims in demand for public show |
| Swept out through the cracks beneath the door |
| Holier than thou, how? |
| Surrendered… executed, anyhow |
| Scrawl dissolved, cigar box on the floor… |
| A truant finds home… and a wish to hold on too… |
| He saw the trapdoor in the sun… |
| I cannot stop the thought… I’m running in the dark… |
| Coming up a which way sign… |
| all good truants must decide… |
| Oh, stripped and sold, mom… |
| Auctioned forearm… |
| And whiskers in the sink… |
| Truants move on… cannot stay long |
| Some die just to live… |
| Ohh… |