a girl, laying down
on her stone cold bed
listens to quiet tappity taps
on the pastry roof over her head

she likes to dream, to conquer (and scream)
like in three girls & a cig walking,
she likes to stop, to think, to see
but her watch's-a-tickity-tocking

the compass of 16 brown cats' feet
are keeping her company, after all,
she lies in bed and dreams about
her neighbourhood flooding with blood