Retreating into that corner of her head
((you know that dark and dusty place?)).
The alcohol's pouring down her throat
and she's wondering why she's not dead.
The autumn leaves fall down
((don't they do that every year?)).
Watches the tears land with a slap,
sounds like music's all around.
She's counting the calories as we speak
((who needs food anyway?)),
she wants to be beautiful just once..
she doesn't understand her needs.
Inspiration drives her ghosts
((they bite into her wrists)),
and she's disappearing into her glass,
loves her poems there the most.
She screams and falls down dead
((that didn't even hurt)).
and lands within the autumn leaves..
sounds like the music's in her head..
