| Sleeping pills can keep one drowsy
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| Shut out the angst and feel but nothing
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| Yet to find total closure for terrors of the past
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| A saddened man now entered the hospital at last
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| Ninth door to the left
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| Laid all answers to what had kept him drunk
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| For all those years
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| A gently knocking but no answer
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| Hesitated for a second
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| Then turned the knob and stepped inside
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| In front of him a well made bed
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| In it a woman sleeping, he pulled up a chair
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| So fragile and so helpless
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| He took her hand and held it
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| And whispered in her ear
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| Edward
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| «My dear Ms. Sinclair, you are my mother and a whore of evil
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| How could you leave me there in that old church, why
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| My first vague memories of Father Dorian and me on my knees
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| He stole my boyhood early, him and the other priests
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| While preaching I was dirty and needed to be cleansed
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| Baptized my young face with soggy semen
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| Every evening while tears ran
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| Alternated with violent whipping in God’s name
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| I was a child of shame
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| Dorian, he sodomized my weak and childish body
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| The cross went inside my ravished rear end and bent me open
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| Those yellow teeth still haunt my dreams
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| Caged from daylight inside a cellar
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| He kept me locked up 'til pleasure he craved
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| I know God’s light is shining
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| But this molested soul will never see
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| A heaven that I am certain of
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| My dear Ms. Sinclair
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| You are my mother and a whore of evil
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| How could you leave me there
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| In that old church, why
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| Then one night I noticed he’d forgotten
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| To lock the doors and I saw my chance
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| I sneaked out and ran off, foggy air
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| Morning dark, the grass was wet
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| I’d been there for so long, not sure of my age
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| The wicked Father D. may he burn in hell
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| You must die oh spiteful bitch, you put me there"
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| Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at him silent at first
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| Felt she was squeezing his hand, the wrinkly old hag
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| Ms. Sinclair
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| «My dear boy, my dear Edward let me tell you of your past
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| Please son ease down, sit down and listen to me
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| I was born where you grew up
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| Daughter of Father Dorian
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| His line of blood runs deep
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| Deeper than you can possibly imagine
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| Night after night he robbed me of pride
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| Pleasing his need, a child of his breed that never could smile
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| Instead of playing with a dolly I had to play with him
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| In my mouth I can still taste his salt veiny skin
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| Barely fertile yet daily raped, his holy seed
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| Finally my girly womb managed to impregnate
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| My father, my lover had now made me a mother
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| As he delivered my baby I wept to God
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| I left the church right after my baby boy was born
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| I was replaced by my infant to be my father’s toy
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| That toy was you dear Edward and I’m glad I left you there
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| Our Father’s love for his children can never be compared" |