| I part the curtains of your hair
|
| And all the light of the sun floods the room
|
| Poured from your sleepy stare
|
| Two seconds each morning without fail
|
| Before I enter the abattoir
|
| To see my insides hanging there
|
| But they request that I leave
|
| 'Cause my sad eyes are too much to bear
|
| When the light leaves, the dark sees
|
| Your hands to your hips now,
|
| Two swan necks
|
| Curl between pelvis with stretch-marks
|
| And shoulders with those freckle flecks
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| The pain of the silence before bed
|
| Oh for the sound of your pissing
|
| Through the thin walls
|
| Or stroking your head
|
| But for the shadows and doom
|
| And the sorrow we seem to have bred
|
| When the light leaves, the dark sees |