Pounding away in the back of my head
Until I've almost lost myself
And those red and black patterns
In which nothing happens
Have made me sleep
Her beautiful voice
Is a nail being pulled out of wood
Carry on little hammer
You were always my favourite toy
When the world's dead to me
In my soft to keep fortunate cushion of pins
Is a soldier
Slicing me really thin
The unfortunate truth sneaking in