you keep yourself tidier than most
shapeless and blameless, a half hollowed host
so i put my hands where they're not supposed to go
and press until you're perfect and pure
until you're gross
so what do you say
i could live inside you
fill in the space
you notice but are used to
all that i need is permission to kill you
wax paper, wax paper
look what i look through
seeing the sun through your eyelids, you relearn
how to make light of the death that you deserve
born to complain, you claim everything gets worse
now your'e just sad 'cause you've got no good reason to be
alive
so open up
nice and wide
share yourself
spend your time
show me yours
now it's mine
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