Poor child, I pray that you're breathing okay
Deep under the covers where you hid today
With a pair of scissors held tight to your back
You lashed out to cut off that panic attack
But it was your own nose that fell to the ground
And metallic soda pop pooled at your toes
Then drained from the carpet in red, bubbly rows
Where candied claret goes, no killer knows...

Mother always told you eyes on the prize
Until you made the choice to cut away her lies
With that same weapon you use on your inner thighs
Constantly releasing pepsi, and euphonic sighs
You want to lay down your head in that boneyard bed
Sleeping on the tip of those decorative scissors of yours
Because you never tell the truth and you don't really think it sucks
To be all coated and wrapped up in zombie snores.

I see you from the top of the castle, hair messy with pride
Guess I didn't know you wanted to be a zombie bride
But you look so great in your sickening style
A victim of peppermint disease looking for a brain doctor
A medicine for underlying undead thoughts
Something to punch through this temperature inversion...

Step by step you begin your immersion
Into these pale systems; come search for your surgeon.