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Through the streets, I glide at night
peeping through each window
careful not to give a fright
or off a crescendo
the night is cold, and I’m so lonely,
the streets empty as I,
I’d be so happy, if and only
a few friends would die

My husband past three years before,
and him, I’ve yet to see
I strangled him, and skinned that whore
so I bet they’re in Hell.