Ballerina Letra

He was strict at home, keeping your body in thin sexy form.
He was the one who wanted to put the shoes on your tender feet. Wrap them tightly.
Accidentally touching your thin legs.
He forced you to struggle in border of anorexia.

Did you look in the mirror, seeing the ugly fat girls reflection?
Did you refuse to eat so you would look better? Was it like that?
Not for your father.
Your father looked you in every possible practice and show, yet he saw nothing but the thinnest and smallest little darling, he wished to hold close and penetrate.
Something so beautiful he had created, but so willing to taint and force under his power.

You and your friends, stretching in those tights.
Into positions what made your orifices so available, but hidden under surface of thin clothing.
He'd like nothing more but expose his cock, thicker than your arm, and penetrate every orifice of his beloved child.

Sometimes you could see stains in your ballerina shoes.
You couldn't yet understand what it was.
It was sometimes semen, from your father private fetish games. And sometimes cunt slime, when your father forced your mother to masturbate with those little shoes.
Watching her tightly closed eyes and facial expressions which made her look so guilty. So guilty, but even more weak.
Adjusting her life under power of man of the house.

Your father wanted you naked.
He wanted you to dance for him.
With slow movements, with calm music on the background.
While watching your movements, he would see the romantic visions, of you gagging on semen, holding little tummy with both hands, messy tear blurred wet eyes watching pieces of torn tights.
Traces of shit and blood, red and bruised orifices.
You're so hungry, but fathers control doesn't allow bigger meal.
You're so scared, and can nothing else but play along.
This is the life you have.
Living doll.
Fathers own toy.