I don't know what to do about that.

All huddled up with some snowflakes on her knees, all wrapped up in this muggy love atmosphere, triyng to not think about green, white, green stripes on her former room's wall, doing like if she doesn't know she's not from here, feeling the harm of a crocodile hand on her tight, doing like she's a part of the sofa.

She's so far away, and all she really wanna now it's some blood on her dress.

But you know, like hands shakking the fairy dust on the light, like bubbles and old smoke, she can't remove the past, she's stuck with her bad conscience and the bit taste of happiness in the throat                                                         

.