Voltaire The Chosen
Last night a moth came to my bed and filled my tired weary head with horrid tales of you. I can't believe it's true. But then the lamp shade smiled at me. It said, "Believe" it said, "Believe." I want you to know it's nothing personal. First time I had sex, I was three. First time consenting was thirteen. Though you weren't there, you remind me of those hands. Roses are red, violets are blue If I'm schizophrenic, then I am too! Whatever it takes to escape. I hope you understand why I'm forced to take your life in my hands. I want you to know it's nothing personal. And though we've never met I've seen your image in a million waking dreams. Your eyes they call to me, "Set me free." Did I ever tell you, you look like my mother? She once left me in a supermarket. I promised myself that I'd never feel that way again. Did I ever tell you that you look like my dear old mother? I hope you understand why I'm forced to take my life in your name. I want you to know, it's nothing all the same. And though we've never met I've seen you image in a million waking dreams. Your eyes call to me, "Set me free." It's not easy being the chosen.
