Shaking hands turn black with poisioned words.
A secret, smeared and staned, that you've hidden...

Such a little baby, crying.
Tossing from the stress of knowing...

I want to see trees,
that spring from the ground...

Each day, same story, different grisly form.
Served by reporters with Barbie-doll smiles...

When she laughed, the hissing lights caught her...
and stayed in her eyes as she began to speak...