Faceless manequin in my dreams, I dare thee to speak. Will you exchange words, with the me that is me? For you have seen what others see, that which I have never seen.

The naked scoundrel dressed for death, it's my birth, it's my best. Shy, vulgar and pressing through like needles to cotton. She'll feel his wrath, such stature these devilish things. There's no proof when the lights cut low. Never satisfied, his hunger grows. Feasting on moments with an akward past. She'll take him in, she'll take him in.

Faceless manequin, please don't tell.