I would make a good corpse. Pale face, sunken eyes; the origin of vampire myth And I ask myself what if when I lick my lips in search of love You just think in search of lust, or thirst Can’t you tell that the only thing I am thirsty for is solace I am the girl with sunken eyes Who has seen too much, but can never die And I keep hearing the phrase ‘handle it’. Don’t you know that the word ‘handle’ twists knots in my stomach Instead of opening doors, it shuts them. Tight. Lock it. Don’t let the thunder erupts from behind the door Can’t let anybody see that there is a storm Handle it. Why does this phrase make me twitch? How many handles could the door possibly come with? Each new incident jiggles it a bit The world can’t seem to quit, so Maybe I’ll give it a peek Make them think that behind this door is Narnia It’s magic . Little do they know, War is coming. Behind this handle Lie frozen tears that tore away the earth hurt