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I'll spread me open, stuck to my ribs Are all your infants in abortion cribs You run like roaches, and you try to die I know your poison, in our space we'll lie To an obscene god we will dance and spit The skin is thin, in our beds we sit We take off our rings and we kneel Our scabbed knees are so slow to heal Sketch a little key hole For looking-glass people I don't want to be me I don't want to fear, no Momma's got a scarecrow