Take a look at my body, look at my hands, there's so much here that I don't understand. Your face-saving promises whispered like prayers, I don't need them. Because I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long, as if I'm becoming untouchable. Well, content loves the silence, it thrives in the dark with fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart. They say that promises sweeten the blow, but I don't need them, no I don't need them.
I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long, as if I'm becoming untouchable. I'm the slow dying flower in the frost killing hour, sweet turning sour and untouchable.
I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness, oh, I need this. I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel sweet love of my life... Oh, I need this. I'm the slow dying flower in the frost killing hour, sweet turning sour and untouchable.
Well is it dark enough? Can you see me? Do you want me? Can you reach me? Oh, I'm leaving. You better shut your mouth, and hold your breath, kiss me now, and catch your death. Oh, I mean this.
(My skin - Natalie Merchant)
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