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pawing my clothes, going through jewellery,
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finding Grandma's necklace...
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You know, Grandma dying,
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he doesn't see that.
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Grandma taking my hand in hers, all lumps and liver spots,
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and saying, "For your first granddaughter, my darling".
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He sees none of that, just sees something to sell,
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the bastard.
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And what he's done to this.
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I used to like a drink at night, now I need one.
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I used to love the doorbell going, now I dread it.
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The slightest noise at night