Hand me your hand, let me look in your eyes As my last chance to feel human begins to vaporize Maybe it's the heat in here, maybe it's the pressure You ought to head for the exits, the sooner the better
I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam And no one in her right mind would make her home my home My heart's an autoclave My heart's an autoclave
When I try to open up to you I get completely lost Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost And I reach deep down within, but the pathways twist and turn and there's no light anywhere, and nothing left to burn
And I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam And no emotion that's worth having could call my heart its home . . .
"As long as the child within is not allowed to become aware of what happened to him or her, a part of his or her emotional life will remain frozen . . . all appeals to love, solidarity, and compassion will be useless." -- Alice Miller
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