They drench her wounds with salted spit but she can't poke them with her butter knife...
However much they deserve it.
What a strange world this is, how the clouds have grown more angry, how we hold our face to be brave,
She is not safe, she is not brave.
This life (?)
These are the fungus.. we live beside,
How the world has stopped to grow to let them.
Who will she be when she is old?
She is not safe...
And she can't poke them with her butter knife.