I've displayed for you my violence,
with that sweet and curious song.
Don't leave me tied to that olive branch
your dress is hanging from.

I'm certain now, Maria,
in the absence of your touch.
I am only who I am,
not who I was.

Take me to the concert hall,
unsheathe your violin.
Play for me that farewell kiss
that I'm still living in.

I'm terrified, maria,
of your gleaming silver gun.
But we've known for quite a while
what must be done.