look at all the many colors, so exquisitely embroidered, delicately and precisely sewn into a line organized in harmony, relationships so intricate how’d I ever come across a tapestry so fine?
but what is this? you’re burning holes in my stitching the colours bleeding into one big mess did you guess, I’d let this fabric fray?
I’m meddling with murderers who still deserve to pay for their insanity and though I’m one of them, I’m rarest of my kind, for many fell but only I arose it’s been so long, since I’ve seen the sun, who’s to say if the colours have faded? locked away so long, now jaded, left only to decay
I’m Mary. I feel like Mary in this dress. I’m Mary.
And virgin journeys lie before us, patient and inscrutable There’s clouds of visions, crowds of villains, mulling in withdrawal And who would make the sacrifice, who but I is suitable? who but the sharp dressed woman with a dull chainsaw?
I mean no insult, but I’m fed up It’s my fault, gave you the go ahead I’ve lost my way, my hopeful days are just as dead as I am
And failure on my part to intercede has now ironically or cosmically, like poetry, come in between our destiny and us but now there’s nothing left and nobody to meddle with to try and make it better, it’s unsettling, to mother nothing
Mightn’t I have seen this coming on the horizon? storms of green and orange, this world of monsters taking form but no, it is my place to simply fade away like wind like someone else that I could name that shouldn’t have been born
Of Mary. I feel like Mary in this dress. I’m Mary and I’ve nothing to confess but hear me, cause no-one else is left