His hands are all over
My beautiful black dress
His awful scent is there too
His fingers have found their way in
To the sheer lace of the folds
And no matter what I do,
it is ruined
I cannot rinse it of his touch
I wash and wash the feathery thing
Until my skin is colorless and raw
It is spoiled
His hands posses it now
Oh my black dress
You and I are the same