Air III - Joy
Sasha Siem
Today I take Joy and sit her down
I tell her I can't cope with copying her anymore
I uncross her arms and I part her legs
I tangle her hair and rub her head between my thighs
I feel sorry but I'm not sorry
I feel sorry but I'm not sorry
The Devil has crept in and is multiplying quietly
Between the bed sheets piled on shelves in the laundry room
I think I must have brought them back as mothers
In my carry-on
I feel sorry but I'm not sorry
I feel sorry but I'm not sorry