Agonistic joy under the moonlight framed beautifully in BDSM pornography
Olivia, I know you feel it everywhere
Nothing to be scared of now, no baby
Not anymore
And they called you a whore, Olivia
They called you a sister, a lover, a friend
When you died on the floor, Olivia
They called your phone and you didn't answer it
A starving child under the vulture's gaze
Beautifully shot, the picture wins the pulitzer
Olivia, I know you feel it everywhere
But what is the name of this rage?
I fear it everyday
And they called you a whore, Olivia
They called you a sister, a lover, a friend
When you died on the floor, Olivia
They called your phone and you didn't answer it
Forlorn Candide under the burning moon
Beautifully framed by triumph and by tragedy
Olivia, I know you feel it everywhere
In the sunlight and stone you lie on Voltaire's grave
And they called you a whore, Olivia
They called you a sister, a lover, a friend
When you died on the floor, Olivia
They called your phone and you didn't answer it
They called your phone and you didn't answer it
Pick up the phone
And sometimes I think we're all one step to or from oblivion
If we speak kindness to each other then we might all be saved
And I know you felt the callousness of God in all our suffering
As if God had no empathy or God had gone insane
And I know you thought the void was calling out to you in earnestness
And all who claimed to love someone had bought into the lie
And I know you thought you found the truth in the numbing of reality
But for life to have meaning we must feel pain sometimes
And I know that you were cared about by people you would never meet
I know because I'm one of them
I speak now from my soul:
I offer up my prayers to you sweet angel Saint Olivia
I pray we love each other on this earth, your sacred grave
I offer up my prayers to you sweet angel Saint Olivia
Save us from the burden you escaped
