There's a scratch at my door
And I find myself clutching to life during the afternoon; it truly is the time it hurts the most
I am not like a silk teddy you can discard to the Bordeaux's drawer
And you know more than I, my demeanor tends to be a bit morose
Tell me, do you truly care?
Or am I just an edifice of sexuality?
You traipse around me because of my blackened heart; you think you must beware
Clearly my tenderness has become your reality
Please tell me what your understanding of what life is for
Is it just to be utterly debilitated by inner pain?
It's life gnawing ache I can't simply ignore
I dream of the sunshine upon me... I am sick of the perpetual rain
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