I'll let the knife decide
which mood I'm in
the blade glitters
while it's dancing on my skin
Making illustrations
with one colour, crimson red
dripping out, to form a puddle
Leaving scars, the mark of dread
I'll let the knife decide
Who I was, am, and will be
I stand bound on his side
I am the knife's bride
 |
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||||