She reaches her hands to sky
and do her little tribal dance
as the orlogue strikes on hour nine
It's time to go to bed

She is clean and beautiful
And she's humming an eerie song
as she closes her eyes with dread
She's laid in the bed

The orlogue strikes on hour ten
as she shivers to the kithcen shelves
and sets her breasts in flames
It's time for the police

It's not your fault.
It's not your fault.