"I wish I could tell him," she cries "but if I do I think I'll die..."
scream, scream, scream, she screams
she loves him and we my never know why.
He loves her, needs her
whispers in ear:
"Your hands are like roses,
wrists need not be red my dear."
She abides by
the name-covered notebooks
with love letters and suicide notes
So walk on broken eggshells,
bite down on glass,
bleed out your heart,
this love will never last.