There she was every night: mutilating a flower in the dense darkness, breaking the silence with weak sobs Letting her tears flow 'cause they have shackles in daytime. It's them: drops that fracture the gate of her eyes, a rain of dying stars that leave a sad and shiny wake going down for her face. With the petals, those stars scatter, sick of uprooting, and the dead body of a flower that's still dead between her hands. Mutilation of night flowers Mutilation of night flowers Her refuge, within the shadows, are her freedom and her flagellum: what's denied, the frustration and of what's not allowed, the persistence a tie to whats nonexistence, 'cause there's no options, there's no change, every petal says the same. Every petal says the same.