I can't stand ones own flowing blood,
or the torture of a human soul.
It pains me to stand and let my eyes behold the sight,
the sight of a human becoming less.
When it comes to you,
why don't my eyes shut themself?
Why don't they blink, water, shutter?
Why does your misery bring so much delight,
not a sense of guilt nor aversion,
to your own daughter?
