Woorden: Tori Amos. Little Earthquakes. Precious Things.

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So I ran faster but it caught me here.
Yes, my loyalties turned like my ankle in the seventh grade,
Running after Billy, running after the rain.

There precious things, let them bleed, let them wash away.
These precious things, let them break their hold on me. Ayah...


He said you're really an ugly girl, but I like the way you play.
And I died. But I thanked him. Can you believe that sick, sick,
Holding onto his picture dressing up every day.
I wanna smash the faces of those beautiful boys, those Christian boys.
So you can make me cum, that doesn't make you Jesus.


These precious things, let them bleed, let them wash away.
These precious things, let them break their hold on me. Ay...


I remember, yes, in my peach party dress.
No one dared, no one cared to tell me,
Where the pretty girls are, those demigods,
With their nine-inch nails, and little fascist panties,
Tucked inside the heart of every nice girl.


These precious things, let them bleed, let them wash away.
These precious things, let them break, let them wash away.
These, these precious things, let them bleed now, let them wash away.
These, these precious things, let them break their hold on me.
Ayauh... precious... precious...