You've been writing me rules, shrinking maps,
and redrawing borders.
I've been repeating your speeches, but the audience just doesn't follow.
Because I'm leaving out words, punctuations, and it sounds pretty hollow.
I've been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep.
I've been hiding my voice and my face and you decide when I eat.
In your dreams I'm a ciminal, horrible, sleeping around.
While you're awake I'm impossible, constanly letting you down.
Little porcelain figurines, glass bullets you shoot at the wall.
Threats of castration for crimes you imagine when I miss your call.
With the bite of the teeth of that ring on my finger,
I'm bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer.
I'd happily take all those bullets inside you and put them inside of myself.
«Someone, oh anyone. Tell me how to stop this.
She's screaming, expiring, and I'm her only witness.
I'm freezing, infected, and rigid in that room inside her.
No one's gonna come as long as I lay still in bed beside her.»