it’s like you always cut pieces of you
meant for people who don’t deserve you
keep looking for comfort
and finding smell of sulfur
on my breath, on my breast
i can’t have no rest,
i’m just too wicked,
i’m just too crooked,
and i bet you’re sick of my fickle ways.
oh, how long are the days
when you keep waiting for the blood to dry,
for the blade to dull,
now it’s too late to tell you goodbye.