| She sits on a window sill. |
| Looking down, it’s quite a thrill,
|
| Imagery, imagining what is it like to be dead.
|
| She walks out upon the ledge, searching for the living end
|
| She wonders, wondering just what has changed in her head
|
| Looking outward through my pain
|
| Looking through my window pane
|
| See her face turn into rain
|
| She prepares her face at last. |
| Taking off the piece of glass
|
| Wrapped 'round her eyes
|
| She doesn’t cry. |
| She’s very young
|
| And very bright to die
|
| Then so quickly she stands up. |
| Takes her shoes off in a lump,
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| She lays them down. |
| Lately she has drowned
|
| Checks to see her room is neat, making sure her clothes are clean,
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| Dying — death in dirty clothing puts you down
|
| Looking outward through my pain
|
| Looking through my window pane
|
| See her face turn into rain
|
| Then so quickly she stand up, crouches low, prepares to jump
|
| Quite properly, pretends she’s in gym shooting a basketball
|
| Floating downward through the air, remembering the state of her hair
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| She falls, and nobody hears it at all
|
| Looking outward through my pain
|
| Looking through my window pane
|
| See her face turn into rain
|
| Yes, dawn coming through the rain, it has washed her mind away
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| I went ahead and made my bed, nothing really need by said
|
| But she is dead
|
| You can have it cause I don’t want it
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| If you want it you can have it
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| I can’t take it, I’m falling, I’m calling
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| Please, please help me, please help me. |