Thirteen, now death.

The crystal cyanide
his thoughts that have died
she says it's okay
it happens everyday.

He blossoms into a boy of thirteen
Into a world hardly obscene
But she's obscene in the usual way
The kind that makes you want to stay

It's getting late and my plate is full
The alluring scent and the tempting pull
With a fork-like knife, I'm served her heart
The option to dig in and rip it apart.

But the meter-maid wrote a ticket for me
I've been here too long as you can plainly see
I'm stuck here walking all alone again
I'll pay the ticket, but only god knows when.