I've been waiting here.
Untouched unless cobwebs were brushed from my head...

When the first flowers were born
from drops of sun-kissed ice...

Two spiders meet.
Web and bush in a twist...

Each day, same story, different grisly form.
Served by reporters with Barbie-doll smiles...

She concentrates on her fingertips,
tugging at the hem of her skirt...

When she laughed, the hissing lights caught her...
and stayed in her eyes as she began to speak...

Let's end it now,
Before the cold sets in...

She concentrates on her fingertips,
tugging at the hem of her skirt...

We choose our target.
Set a mark...

Shaking hands turn black with poisioned words.
A secret, smeared and staned, that you've hidden...