The rather slow and grey days of my childhood
Were enlightened by here presence of my illness
Was enlightened by her laughter
She was so fine, she was so warm
Her beauty was so majestic and great
She had the face of an angel of hope to me
It was so heavenly and pale

Berenice give me your teeth
Berenice, please

Then she got ill and faded fast
Her beauty turned to sickening ugliness
While her state of mind got worse and worse
I was in the worst of states myself
All that remained of her heavenly beauty was
A set of teeth in her glorious mouth
32 gorgeous, precious little tombstones
Laughed at me in a horny horror

How obsessed I was, by what she possessed
But what caused awful state of shock?
What was it that frightened me so much?
Was it the voice of my dear conscience?
The smell of wet clothes covered with mud?
The feel of wet hands covered with blood?
Or is it the sight of that previous little box
That just fell from the table to the floor?

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