I would sooner put a knife to my wrist Then ever again have to feel like this I'd slice on, through and through Until my veins were quite red not blue I'd drain every single last drop In hopes that this feeling will stop But know nothing hurts more than the truth
I would sooner put a noose round my neck Then to admit that she's correct Than to admit I'm nothing more Than those word that chill me to my core I'd rather be found blue and cold Then believe the words I'm being told No I'd rather be found, hanging;