We girls, we have to mature, create an instant past,
a hairline incision
Into what was once called [?].
They say we'd lose our heads if they weren't attached
To our spines by ganglia and nerve tissue
and stuff called effervescence. Because it's pink.
Oh, it's not enough to be ringmasters,
bachelorettes of knowledge, [?] queens of the world.
A sign must be put on to study,
to be ignored like that doghouse on fire out back.
Father once warned me that I'd explode, and I did.
It was a painful way to spend a Saturday,
But I think it built character.
You, you'd do it too, and hide everything that's [?] be inside
Until it becomes a secret known by you,
only by you and a soft sweet liver.