The cold blade slices accross her skin,
the blood dribbles, the pain surges.
Just like her own dose of ectasy,
She is addicted.
Lies pour from their lips,
covering their disapointment.
She doesn't cut herself,
she is our perfect child.
Nothing less, nothing more.
The cold blade slices across her skin,
her rejoice singing in blood.
The cuts are getting deeper,
the body yearns for her drug.
She is addicted.
They say,
that ignorance is bliss.
Her pain is a hinderance,
to their image of perfection.
They believe their lies,
just blame it all on her.
The cold blade slices across her skin,
this time the drug isn't enough.
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Everyone has dreams.
Nothing but fairytales.
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