If I could feel a squirming, wriggling mass,
A bundle of limbs and soft, soft flesh...

The pain inside is like a secret.
A naughty secret that must be kept hidden...

Why do you tell me you love me?
You raise my hopes so high...

Struggling to keep the peace
Biting my tongue and drawing blood...

I washaving trouble breathing
And my chest had started heaving...

Funerals are steeped in tradition;
Hymns and words of prayer for those no longer...

So dance. Dance like the eyesore you've become.
Interpret pity-glares as lustful eyes...

I could be on my own,
Raising you...

I watch you with a deep despair.
I want to take it away and make the pain...

It feels like.
What does it feel like...

Look at you.
You make me sick...

It's alright, silly girl,
Crying is allowed...