| It is still inside and the curtains are all drawn
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| Cloaked in red to hide there will be no dawn
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| This fair child shadowed by a rabid dog
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| Day and night it salivates at heel wits far gone
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| Minutes never rest hours turn to weeks
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| What life is this what sight is this
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| Her nimble fingers skin a cat alive
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| Shuddering at the sight but with no remorse
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| She rips and tears precious meat the body squeals
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| Still twitching and blinking still there
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| Grandmother of old tells us keep cupboards closed
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| Filling pantries with worship and divine
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| Not rotting companions we cry for in our sleep
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| Still twitching, still blinking, still there
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| Twenty hands long and mouth open wide
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| Needles drag across his skin in the night
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| Fear is not a part of her
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| Shame for what’s to come
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| Knife in hand dripping and unclean
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| Resting an arm on a foul wood plank
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| She begins back and forth
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| The dull blade takes hours to reach bone
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| No tears no noise
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| This is the offering
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| With heavy breath
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| Shadows become eyes
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| No tears no noise
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| I give a part of me |