Charles you’re looking pale
And your fingers are curved
And clenched, and cold, and light
They feel like a chill around my throat
You should really get some rest
Or maybe drink some wine
You oppress me with your conversation
And I never know what to say when you’re like this
Hit me, Charles.
I want you to hit me.
Maybe one of us would feel something if you did
Maybe we could live a little
Because this isn’t life, Charles
This is Hell
And you started the fire
And I hold the keys to every room