Don't Murder Me Rachel

Eu, Voce...nao existe nada mais...mais que eu fico por voce, esta noite, como tudas as noites,
Stasera canterò per te...un canzone di la lotta.. la lotta tra la vita dopo la morte.
Do I exist...barely even in my dreams, I drown, I drown, I drown, I drown,
I sit by a Maiden picking flowers by the stream, I hear her name, Ophelia, where are you?
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!", my stomach curls, the paranoia creeps again.

Spit, vomit, clasp your throat, love me, love you, this burning sensation,
No please, please don't let this life slip from the weak grasps of my tired bones, my tired hands,
Bent knees, cold marble, hands sink into teeth, rot, rot, fucking rot,
Exactamente eran las 7:00 pm, era el hospital en donde nací...
No lloré, no lo hice: Me ahogaba. La muerte dió su cara en ese momento.
It feels good to know I'm dying, little, little, les pleurs dus à la souffrance psychologique, que, que?

"Alice, it's just a danse macabre what we're playing...can't you see your swollen teardroped eyes?"
"Why dont you run into the labyrinth and play our little game, feast on white rabbit and smile, smiling..."
Mommy, I'm afraid of the dark....don't leave me alone mommy, please don't, don't leave me ever.
Sing your despairs into my pretty face, tell me you care or tell him to weep.

I cling to your colourful butterfly wings, women oh so beautiful...so wrong, between the scissor cutting and blood and fucking endless despair. My favourite painter painted my face, it shrivelled in an instance and burnt at the stake. Ravaged, insulted...I feel hate against to what I am, I am a man...I paint illusion and lies, a useless man that doesn't deserve this venomous kiss. Who are you to say I can't ring the doorbell, press it! Press it before it ends. "I, I will, I will not, see: I gave up".

FIN

FIN? but what about this hollowness, it never gets filled...what can I do to run away from it?

Awareness to a disorder they judge, who understands what happens but me....

I cut myself for attention, I destroy myself for attention, I hung myself for attention, I point a gun at my head for attention: This Joke Isn't Funny Anymore. It's an addiction, it's a habit, it's pleasure.... it's happiness...

"Darkness still haunts me, but do you know what I really need?"
"No, know can hear what I need, no one...one...zero"
"I need a hug, is it that hard to ask?"
"Yes"
"Tell me your problems, I'm the doctor, you're the patient...Now, why is this so hard? Is it an issue? What's going on inside that broken heart?"
"You won't understand, can't read my mind, so why bother with the syringe and comfort"
"I can't read women's minds...but I can know how it feels. Do you consider me an intruder?"
"Yes. An intruder washed out in the rain"

Writen by Anna Parker and Federico Nieto