Text: Voltaire. The Last Word.

what do they call it when another force is is your hand?
and what will they say when they find me here this way?
and know, know, know, know, that it wasn't my idea
no it wasn't my idea
but oh, just to see your face when you find me here like this

now there's no time for wondering
darkness is now at my door
rapping with his thorny fingers
he's come to take me home
he'll envelope me in sleep
wrapped in black feathered wings
but before we fly- here's my goodbye

i get the last word, i'll have the last laugh
sure as the room is growing cold
i'll have the last word, i'll have the last laugh
sure as my blood is running cold

they won't call it suicide
cuz i've got the killers name engraved so deeply in my veins
they will call it homocide
cuz i've got your name so clearly carved into my wrist

the weak and the lame
will find their way to escape
but why should i leave all this beauty behind
and forfeit the joy in my life in the name of the name in vain? *

i'll have the last word, i'll have the last laugh
sure as the room is growing cold
i'll have the last word, i'll have the last laugh
sure as your blood is running cold

far be it for i to leave all this beauty behind
i will stay to watch you wither away
and with any luck you may be hit by a truck
and i will remain to dance upon your grave
oh look and you see how much your death means to me
please won't you play in a busy street?
far be it for i to leave all this beauty behind
and i will remain to dance upon your grave