Some day you will die and somehow somethin's gonna steal your carbon

I am prosecuted. Daily.

They tell me that I am wrong to want to know what is stinging when it hurts and what feels right when I stand beside my plight. Where does my fire go when man stealeth my lamp?

Isabelle, oh, my Isabelle, what have they done to you? Your dress, it is leaking and your heart, I hear the weeping. When did he tell you to stop the seeking? Why have you done this to yourself? I made you so strong, I made you so tall. But the Whiskey mixed with the pills only to help you fall. When did you start praying for rain and fuck it all?

He broke you Isabelle, he broke you in six times twenty-two. He made you cold and left you do die alone. Claimed your hands had planted the seed and let your iron-lung breathe the weed.

But he loves you Isabelle, he loves you. Fight for that freedom and he will be there. He in this Spring. He is in this air. You are so beautiful, Isabelle, and this story is yours to tell.