"A young girl who swore that people were spying on her from all of the lighting fixtures."
And they're, all around me
in a white tuxedo under the Matte ceiling.
They'll hear me when i stab my doll till
it says it loves me; like a mother would teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate the perfect stranger.
The ones that know that the next morning i'll convulse
on the floor.
Turn off the light, i kind of like it
they can't hear me anymore nor
can they torment my soul.
I'll undress into my gown and a slipper on the able foot;
till God plays the final que.
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