On display,
An exhibit you can touch
Knife in hand, you draw its blood
There on the table by the couch,
There's different knives you can choose from,
There's no illusions in this exhibition today,
Try not to ask her if she's an actor on a stage
She can never disobey,
You can see it in her skin
You can sit and watch, or join in,
But if you tear away her clothes,
And join in the exhibit,
Then whose fault is it, anyway?