i miss my moony and sunflower

The worst nights were the pragmatic ones. A rock shifts by my knee. Could I make another rock move? Could I free my knee to exploit the craftsmanship of the coffin? But it was all ravings. The rock hadn't moved. The craftsmanship was solid. The flowers are dead.

Snatch the candy! Be the girl in the different dress. But the dress changes nothing, and again... I'm kissing Him on the altar. I'm killing Him, but won't burn him. I'm dragged off stage... and buried alive. Penny candy's not the answer. Sunflower left me.