She hides stuff Then she forgets The hideaways She has two voices in her head A circumstantial one Repetitive, neurotic kind An unobtrusive one Concealed, hidden, deep down That she never shares She’s a routine queen She loves routine She knows it but She hides it Then she forgets The hideaways She was hurt From the beginning To it’s deploying She feels herself being As long as she’s in the woods, in the winds Take my body to the Alps She asked: Once I'm dead And run the hills I said I would She’s been expecting something Something she couldn’t name From the beginning To it’s deploying No land, her feet burns There’s a child inside her With no mum She afraid when she must Think with her body Afraid when she drives She’s not the dominating type