Amy, sweet lewd amy... the way she moans, it's so obscene. Whether she's crying or complaining, And the way she's getting beaten, it's almost arousing. I cannot differ the sounds anymore, They all seem like a relentless buzzing discomfort. Fuck this treacherous imagination of mine, If you'd only knew the complexity of the scenarios emerging from there. It feels like a bad soap-opera, Yet you cannot help yourself from watching the next episode. She must be so beautiful, I guess that is why I hate her and her voice that much. The mystery in itself, of her real self, is far more interesting than knowing. Introspection, yes I do fear the return of the ever-questioning process. It has forced me to review most of the basics concerning females. I hear them, over and over again, throughout the night. I don't remember the last time I slept, And... and I'm not feeling well, here, Alone with my thoughts... staring at a blank wall. Battered and bruised, bleeding on the floor. Worthless piece of meat. I know she's crushed. But I am useless, unable to save her, and maybe I don't want to. Oh how I beg for complete silence...