you drag that blade across your pale skin
Letting the crissmon red flow off my body
knowing its a sin
but it turned to a hobby
a hobby that you shouldn't have.
We both have this hobby
and i know, that you don't want to  
and you don't want to drag that blade
on your wrist, but you do
listening to your music
while you cry yourself asleep at night

Burns on your skin,
made by that lighter in your hand
they call them similes
but they make you cry

All the pain you think you deserve,
wont get you through the day