When I awoke I lay tied to a foreign bed.
  Inside a house sown out of human flesh.
  A palace of skin graft architecture.
  Oh desolation! I can't stand to fuck these walls.
  Desolation! I can't stand to suck these halls.
  But how do I sleep when the skin I stroke
  underneath the sheets is mannequin plastique?
  And I wonder where the girl who slept beside me has gone.
  When the faces in the photos stare with glass eyed mystique
  Tick, tick, tick, tock I watch the clock for tenderness.