| 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 |