Coming back from surgery,
Coming up on seventeen,
Some kind of heart-plasty or maybe a lobotomy.
Coming back from surgery,
Coming up on seventeen,
I don't remember how I looked before he got to me.
Coming up on twenty-three
Cut a piece of skin off me,
Never have to wait in line; they never seem to know it's me.
And he's standing over me,
Wide awake and clenching teeth,
"Now it's time," he says "for you to open up so I can see."
Caked... all...
Caked all over...