The voices are talking inside her head,
she hides beneath the covers, lying scared in her bed.
Too scared to tell, to cry or shout,
but the curtains drawn will keep the world out.
Misery and pain in a mixed up head,
too frightened to live, in case she winds up dead.
Each sound, each smell, a new conspiracy born,
one step closer to loved ones mourn.
All her possessions, kept in an organised way,
untouched and sealed, that's the way they must stay.
She talks in whispers because of the hidden microphones
and avoids the one way mirror, the only one that she owns.
She won't answer the phone, because the phone has been tapped ,
she'll walk on the polothene route that's mapped.
Try not to contaminate, with falling hairs,
welcome to her world of 'nobody cares'.
Tv's proffessional gossips, for every occasion,
overstepping boundaries of privacy invasion,
making up lies, snapping a photograph,
antagonising people, until they show their wrath.
Big brother's watching, there's a satalite in the sky,
we know what you're doing, so you can't deny.
She's listed it all in her secret inventory,
she's scared to death of the 21st Century.
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