Natalie Merchant - My Skin
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Look at my hands
There's so much here that I don't understand
Your face-saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
'cause I've been treated so wrong,
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Well, contempt loves the silence, it thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart
They say that promises sweeten the blow
but I don't need them, no I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong,
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
I'm a slow-dying flower
In the frost-killing hour
Sweet turning sour and untouchable
I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness