Crimson gore in the dream of an idea.  A bad idea, a sad idea.  I murdered her, but it was an accident.  She was dancing in those frilly pajamas and you weren't looking.  The lights were so bright and her hair was bouncing up and down.  She looked at me, knowingly, for just a little too long and went back to dancing that stupid dance in front of the mirror.  I murdered her, but it was an accident.  When you came into the foyer, I didn't know what to say.  I just stood there, hands wet, evaluating what I had done.  She walked in looking like she was going out, dolled to the nines.  I turned away from her, pretending she wasn't there and falsely occupied myself with something on the shelf by the door.  I could see her reflection in the mirror.  She was staring right at me.  I spun around to find her dancing in those frilly pajamas.  I'm sorry.  I murdered her, but it was an accident.