A sixth sense for cruelty,  
Like you could smell the paper-thin scent of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

Cruel - like it was gifted by the gods  
Like you could sense the feeble first-steps of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

You look at me like a Greek myth  
Full of serpent-stone, sirens and Aphrodite  
Remind me how easily you twist me  
Around your wicked finger  
Stake me down in your palm like a sacrifice  

Maligned and mangled at the foot of Olympus  
The spent offering, the naive fool-  
I'll stitch myself together in a practiced ritual,  
And wait for you to shatter me  
On your altar again