It’s raining, it’s pouring, this night’s so fucking boring.
What went wrong in ’71, should’ve packed her bags instead she had a son.
There’s choices and voices, but who’s gonna listen when you’re skipping lessons.
Chances, romances, could’ve been more careful calculating answers.
Winning through intimidation, mating season’s masturbation.
Go ahead give it a name, safe to fail procreation.
Trashcan full of wasted tissue, cash in on another lawsuit.
Born so simple she has thoughts too, much to young to try and fight you.
Somatic, traumatic, it’ll never be that tragic.
Witchcraft doesn’t work on me. Don’t mean I won’t panic.
Shortchanged a mainstay, sun came out slept in that day.
Foil on the windows, blocked the hope you waited for.