This is fine. It's good. I'm alone here, but I like where I live -- I do. I like the smell of the gardens on my running route, my crazy Italian landlord who is always sitting on the front porch glider no matter what time I come home. I've got my groceries here -- I went for a run, I feel strong, I'm going to make myself a nice, big salad and watch T.V. and eat ice cream right out of the carton if I want to. There's no one to stop me. I'm starving - I did run five miles, after all -- but still I am putting every single spice I just brought in the rack. What would it matter if I left a few things out on the counter and just had my salad? There's no one to see it. But I see it, and it bugs me, so I might as well. Now, while those greens are draining, I'll just chop up this onion. I think I'm going to squeeze this lemon straight into the bottle of dressing. Some people don't like that, but it's only me that's gonna eat it. Now, for the rest of that onion and -- DAMMIT! I just sliced open my hand! SHIT! This is bad -- and there's no one to help me! Help! Somebody! There's so much blood ... it HURTS.

She sings:

bleed bleed bleed im bleeding bleed
blood blood hum blood blood hum
blooood humm blood hum blood hum
bloooodddd blood hum blood hum

She sings to herself:

blood my bloood
      hum
my blood hum
my blood humm mmmmm my
my my bloood humm my blood
my bloood hum my blood hum

bleeed my blood hum, my blood hum
bleed bleed bleed bleed my blood hum
      my blood hum
                blood hum
                blood hum
                blood hum

she sucks her fingers and hums
          my blood hum
          my blood hum