Talking bodies; praying lips. She is sad about the lady, or perhaps the baby she killed, pretending to mourn by shaving her hair.
She buried her baby in the toilet: Daily she feeds him salt, and waited till he was gone; she named her peter.
Now she wants her hair to grow: cos she’s done giving a fuck! Guilt is bitter, why taste it? Her daddy is a thug.
He doesn’t know about her baby, he is happy she killed peter. Death will come for me, tonight or tomorrow: I will sleep naked and death will pass.