They keep you in a glass jar
To make sure you won't go far.
And so you float in a liquid
You'll never live, you never did.
The wounds on your face.
You could have worn lace.
You fine hands and neat fingernails.
The time in the jar crawls like a snail.
In a row on a shelf
Your jar found its place.
And I find myself
Stare at your disfigured face.
A stillborn baby with golden curls
Allways will be...
A stillborn baby with golden curls
Allways was...
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