There's a werewolf that runs through the yard every night, I see him, he likes to sit on the well and howl out his slanderous yawp. A banshee will scream, I watch through the window with my child eyes ablaze, the illuminated orange hue of a lamp behind me; painting me as a spector to the ghouls and midsummer madness, the stark, raving lunacy outside.
I wish people could understand that I can make them think a swan is a crow, a ballerina a skeleton, pirouettes of death and sadness, sorrow and loss in a garden of compassion, the silent breeze at dawn touches your face, clouds dissolve into painful sunlight, you are all pointing at everything but your own hearts, I knew what you would think before you did, that's exactly what I wanted you to think.
I'm playful and coquettish, I burn, I laugh, I perish.