O ****** little skirt,
A red so loud it burns my skin.
Such fine floral patterns,
And thorns that split human skin.
Wanders on a hill of red and green,
Falls into the hands of men with no mercy.
Stretched and pulled and stretched and pulled,
Like liquor rushing into hot capsules.
O ****** little skirt,
Trembles in the dark closet.
Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain,
Share the same red unmade bed.
O ****** little skirt,
Keep bleeding, keep bleeding.
O poor ****** little skirt,
What have you now?
