A fairy tale for forgotten children
The story teller tending a dying flame...

As another sun rises
On another broken daughter...

I form these words
Beneath oceans...

If I were an ocelot
I'd spend my days catching flies...

I don't see you
Because you don't exist...

From this hillside
Covered in carnivorous roses...

Disconcerting conversations
The Gypsy works his disabled tongue...

I have met some beautiful people
Who have walked the same paths I've walked...

There is a man, no-one has seen
Whose eyes are a sickly shade of green...

In the afternoon in silence
In the place where I was born...

Remove these needles from my arms
Pull back the mask that hides my face...

A cut is as good as a rose my sweet
No gesture of love could be as neat...