She is a saint Her womb is a place of rejection She washes her perfect skin quietly and hates me for being real Kill the lights and listen for noises to give you away Sanctuary I need a place where I can feel... John James Hewitt (1931-1969) The Orchard: "It feels like we're all locked up in little cages" "The ceiling is closing in, and the walls... The walls are closing in - Can't you feel that?" I will turn my eyes away I will not turn into stone No more accusations and lies She's spreading her self Flesh giving way to flesh I watch her bones I'm being eaten alive Remove the eyes Remove the eyes Remove intentions and kill the lights Her love is a blinding line of fire to where I stand Her love is as cold as her desire I'll never be free
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