They keep you in a glass jar To make sure you won't go far. And so you float in a liquid You'll never live, you never did. The wounds on your face. You could have worn lace. You fine hands and neat fingernails. The time in the jar crawls like a snail. In a row on a shelf Your jar found its place. And I find myself Stare at your disfigured face. A stillborn baby with golden curls Allways will be... A stillborn baby with golden curls Allways was...