TO MY DEAR PROVIDER...

I've been kinda numb lately,
kinda cold, lately...
like i've been struck in the head
with a hammer, lately...
like I wanna hug a teddy bear
real hard, lately...
like I have a marshmallow
for a brain,
all sweet and mushy,
all soft and runny,
with warts of burnt sugar
and teeth dents all over... yummy.

I've been different, lately...
all paranoid and suspicious
`cause I know, I found out
that the Big Bad Daddy of Everything that Is
decided to go take a piss
when it was my turn for creation
and, instead, just pointed a finger and said:
"Let's give her a couple of this
and some of that,
perhaps even a head to go with a hat.
I think she deserves a prominent chest,
and for the rest...
well... let's just hope for the best!"

And off I go!
The Frankenstein lady of all angels,
hiding my stitches with really long hair,
talking to bitches 'bout diets and men,
and wondering what if, what if, what if...

'Cause, like plants,
I grow better surrounded by shit,
I grow stronger and more alert.
That's why I need you, my dear provider,
and trust that,
after days and days of mechanical lust,
you'll be able to stay in character
and continue to fertilize my soul.