Medea, Morgana, and Jezebel,
say that if I still have a soul left to sell,
they'll gladly lie with me and hold me real tight,
so for once in my life I might sleep through the night.

But I'll stay up alone till the sun scrapes the sky,
cause my talent is tied to this pain and my pride,
So I'll never feel better, I won't clean the slate,
No I won't ever be happy, because I want to be great.

Im a man made of gold with a heart made of fire,
I'll melt down to **** giving into desire,
I'm surrounded but I'm still all alone,
because ambition won't let me pick up the phone.

I'll trace these empty circles around empty words,
and I'll use a razor to cut my soul into thirds,
One to the devil to pay for my ambition,
One to my obsession for the blood on the ground,
and one to Medea.