keep dancing; the pain stops with every spin
but it's not a habit, she mumbles, I'm not an addict
(while she basks in the somnolence under her skin)
slightly subtle: more submissive than she'd like to admit
what scares them that they shake while she's so still?
all of her blood turns blue like royalty in distress
uncertainly they whisper, calmly wait until
her crown of thorns screams saint and nothing less
she sings a pretty song and she sobs with every lyric
quietly indecisive on an unforgiving bathroom floor
dear diary, some days martyrdom makes me sick -
i understand the sadness, sweetheart, but what are you crying for?