Once, when I was dead,
And lying still upon a dirty bed,
A hag went through my clothes

Her fingers cracked and dryer than a bone,
I screamed (but just in my head)
This corpse which lay upon a farmers bed,
But my watch, my wallet was gone;

She was deceived and disappointed at every turn,
A battle - thats what had passed,
And me just a footsoldier killed in the mud,
With a hole next to my heart;

At least thats what it seemed like just at the start,
But the hole was filled by her hand
As she groped around for something she could take,
I guess, the spoils of war
Should just lie back and then complain no more,
So this - could this be the key?
To my general sexual inability -
To feel, the victim of theft
And me without a heart left in my chest