Get off your knees.
No, no, a quiet death won’t do
That’s too good for you.
I’m within my rights to slaughter you;
France probably has a passion law allowing it.
Let me load a gun
And let you loose in a field,
I’ll hunt you down
In a jeep with headlights
I’ll stand on the bonnet
And make you dance with bullets.
Trespass. Burglars may be murdered
If they pose a life endangering threat;
I’ll slit your throat whilst you’re sleeping
And hang your carcase in the bathroom, swinging…
Break. I’ll oil the stairs… total paralysis.
I’ll lean over you in the hospital bed
In my favourite lipstick, hugging flowers
You’ll dribble when you try to talk
I’ll blot your mouth tenderly
Hell, I might even kiss you!
Enter. I’ll walk in holding your phone
While you’re soaking in the bath, oblivious
‘Both your parents are dead’, double tragedy
I’ll watch your world collapse, oh pleasure terrible
But no, that’s not enough.
Accident. A knock, a tidy slip. The radio falls into the bath.
And that my dear, is it. Rest In Peace.
Thought you could do what you wanted with my history;
No, this womb’s not for lease.
The only problem with these just punishments
Is that they end; and that’s too good for you
I want you awake and feeling
I want to hear your pain, your begging, your screaming.
Come here, give me a kiss
My little death wish;
I saw you, pricking condoms
To force upon me, incubator submission
Mother to some bastard kitten
No, no, no. What lunacy are you entertaining?
You want a piece of me, irrevocably
Too bad, too fucking bad
You don’t get to own any legacy of me
Or commit me to consent
IN ABSENTIA
You fucking loser.
