first, a nude girl in the dead of the night;

your hands have taught her flight and fright.

and as you sneer, her castle will crumble

and she will be nothing but a part of the rubble.

now, you've taught her how to disappear

into a blank, empty space where she hides from fear.

but you always seemed to be able to find her,

and that, i suppose, is what turned her into a whisperer.

and as you run your hands across your daughter's left leg,

i hope you realise; she'll never beg.

she's too strong, for your wicked little games,

but she will not move, she's more righteous than her frame.

and when you finally leave her alone,

you leave her not a weeping girl, but one made of stone.

and you see, she's strong;

but brittle, as well, but still she plays along

i really hope she'll gather her courage to fight;

and last, a nude girl, in the dead of the night.