Lyrics
I am a child and I know no difference.
Dissecting dolls on my unsoiled bed.
Bitter and wild is the world that surrounds this
playpen of mine on this side of my head.
Bruised are my hands and my back with consistence.
Torn is my side from the thorn that it bears.
All of my friends weep for me, but I know this;
Thorns can be cut from the flower that it shares.
So I take my shears to the room where it’s sleeping,
walking so slow on my toes to its bed.
Bruised are its hands from the impact of mine.
And with one little cut, it is off with its head.
I am a child, and I know no difference.
Dissecting dolls on my red soiled bed.
Bitter and wild is the world that surrounds this playpen of mine. This story of mine.
This basement of mine on this side of my head.