What do you dream about, my precious?
Of fields of clovers and sunflowers in an early May morning,
or of little puppies hiding in a basket under the X-mas tree,
or of beautiful sunsets in the caribbean,
I need to know my precious, it's killing me inside.
What do you dream about, my precious?
Walking on the white sand beaches of Florida,
or of murdering someone with a hammer,
or maybe push someone off a bridge,
you watch the terror on thier face as their lungs fill with icy water
at first you see bubbles floating to the top of the water,
but a few moments later the bubbles stop.
What do you dream about, my precious?
Of cute little scenes, or a cold blooded murder?
I need to know, my precious, it's killing me inside.