We were afraid to touch it
The sheets were hot dead prisons
And she was beside me, old,
Oooh, She's, not young.
He dark red hair
Her white soft skin
Now, run to the mirror
in the bathroom,
Look!
She's coming in here.
I can't live thru each slow
century of her moving

I let my cheek slide down
The cool smooth tile
Feel the good cold stinging blood
The smooth hissing snakes of rain...