• Clarabella, fists in her back,
    Fists pounding her spine,
    Clarabella, cannot sleep tonight.
    Hands reach for her aching and tired feet.
    She’s so tired of running.

    Clarabella, clarabella,
    Where do you run to when you’re scared?
    Whose shoulder do you cry on?
    Let your heart turn to glass,
    Clarabella, dear,
    Let your heart shatter.

    Don’t try and fight it.
    It’s no use, Clarabella.
    Dear, oh my dear, hear we go again.
    Why are your hands wrapped around your throat?
    Why do you sound so hoarse when you cough?
    You know these fingers of yours, don’t you?
    Let’s tear them away.

    Clarabella, clarabella, dance around in the raining blood.
    Someday it’ll be yours.
    Honey to my lips,
    Spread your legs wide like a frog.
    Prepare to leap into adulthood.
    I’ll steal away your innocence.
    I’ll force you into this.
    Bloody, bloody Clarabella,
    Oh how lovely you are!

    Clarabella, Clarabella,
    Covered in my seed,
    Covered and bleeding,
    Wrists decorated with such pretty gore!
    Clarabella, my dear, belly swollen with child.

    Lips shamefully sewn shut,
    Vocal box shamefully burned out of its light.
    You’ve succumbed to the darkness inside.
    The light has left your big blue eyes, Clarabella.
    You’ve gone blind.
    You can’t experience the world around you.

    When I stare at you,
    In my heart alone,
    You come to life,
    Even with a knife sticking out of you,
    Clarabella, dear,
    You come to life in front of me.
    I can’t hear you scream,
    But you’re here,
    You’re screaming inside my head,
    As you beg for me to spare your life,
    With each cut, my dear Clarabella,
    You beg me for your life.

    You told me,
    You can die after this dreaded lovechild is born,
    After you’ve brought this dreaded child into the world,
    After all the torture.
    You give me permission to allow your death.
    With each cut, my sweet agony Clarabella,
    I wet myself with pleasure.
    Your screams are perfect!

    Clarabella, Clarabella, the tortured.
    Die for me.
    Cry for me.
    Just don’t beg me for anything.
    Eventually you’ll get your trembling lips sewn shut.
    Your agony will be yours and yours alone.
    What do you think about that?
    Isn’t that a good thing, Clarabella dear?