Pierce you good with an arrow
Knock you down like a bowling pin…

Call up pain and marry sorrow
Because my spirit’s such that I’ll win

You’ve nails in the lid of a box
Have convinced all that that coffin is mine…

But like a key that blows up the locks
Think of me as that looming stop sign

That you shall face eventually, no doubt
It will **** the calm from your frame…

Call the truth from your treacherous mouth
That you may finally taste your earned shame…

And yet still he is luckier than I, He who’s bought a true heart with a lie.