Text: Hester Prynne. An Ambulance In Traffic.

How could you expect me to believe this is all my fault?
One last dance in decadence

You call this knife an acquiesce?
I call it reason to collect one final keepsake...
Your fucking head

I hope it haunts you in your dreams to be reminded of the promises
May you fear the day you wake and there I'll be
I'll be waiting by your fucking bedside
I'll be waiting by your bedside...
With a shotgun and every reason to be the nail that seals your tomb

Who's happy now?
Who's face down in the dirt, completely null of worth
You have what you deserve.

Walk with me to the fire
Stroke the flame... This is where they'll find your remains

Waiting for your last request, just as I'd expect
The same dead as we first met... Screaming silence