I fantasise about becoming worms meat,
And must admit defeat,
No longer dreaming about what may be ahead,
In the here and now,
I wish that I was dead.
She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper…
I fantasise about becoming worms meat,
And must admit defeat,
No longer dreaming about what may be ahead,
In the here and now,
I wish that I was dead.