1. SELF-SERVICE

End of the playtime. Light goes out.
Children must go to bed.
Everything goes quiet.

But the older brother keeps his eyes wide open.
Vicious thoughts are born in his head.
A lead weight is setting up.
Why is he sitting here by my bed?

His lustful eyes,
On my child's body....
His filthy breath.
What the hell is going on?

I didn’t know I was self-service.

How can’t you see the filth on me ?
Why can’t you see what he stole from me....

One little girl must play again...
But obviously we don't have the same games.
How can I get rid of these hands?
Not enough oxygen to breathe
No more voice to scream...
There's just inner tears,
For an endless night.

I wish I've said :
Get your paws off,
You disgust me,
You make me sick!

I didn’t consent to be self-service.

Why can’t you see the filth on me ?
How can’t you see what he stole from me...

Those muffled wrestling noises will forever resonate like hammer blows.
Those disgusting nails will always be like stab wounds.
This shameless breathing will always fill every moment of silence...

Useless tears, silent screams...
One more child died that night.