She's so sure
She knows what she wants
She's so sure
She knows what she needs
Don't ask her
What she's going to do
She knows
She thinks she's
Some kind of saint
A matriarch
For clear-eyed sanity
A character
Waiting on her lines
For the cue
She cannot hear
The clockwork ticking
Of her heart
Her pendulum
Has not remorse
Nor sympathies
Not even a course
She has no need
For prettier things
Than she owns
She cannot hear
The clockwork ticking
Of her heart
