I don't hate her, I hate what she's become.
The laughing and the tears,
and the cruel eyes studying you.
The first one,
the first,
the one.
The first one fought 'til it was done.
The right stuff, the pain, it drips.
Stare in these eyes while the hands lose grip.
The second one, the one, the lie.
The silent one that dwelled outside.
The second one who whispered then yelled.
The second one dared though fell.
The third, the first of the last.
Just a stranger unknown from the past.
The third one who stares and stays.
The third, cold and damp since days.
A fourth, flinched, clamped.
In the end it makes no sense.
The fourth, a twitch to crawl.
The end dwells in us all.
We all go a little mad sometimes.
Haven't you.
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