"If it makes you less mad . . .
I'll die by your hand.
I hope you find out what you want,
I already know what I am.
And if it makes you less mad . . .
we'll stop talking again and you can tell me how vile I already know I am.
I'll grow old and start acting my age,
I'll be a brand new day in a life you hate.
A crown of gold,
a heart that's harder than stone and it hurts a whole lot,
but it's missed when it's gone.
Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not.
I'm glad you can forgive,
only hoping as time goes by you can forget . . .
If it makes you less mad, I'll move out of state.
You can keep to yourself, I'll try and keep out of your way.
And if it makes you less mad, I'll get rid of all your pictures.
Every picture you paint, I'll paint myself out . . .
I WON'T EXIST.
It's as cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room.
When I sneak in your bed to pour salt in your wounds . . .
So call it quits or get a grip,
say you want a solution?
You just want to be missed.
You're calm and reposed, let your beauty unfold.
Spring keeps you ever close,
you're the second hand smoke.
You're so fragile and thing, standing trial for your sins . . .
holding onto yourself the best you can.
You're the smell before the rain,
the blood in my veins . . .
as time goes on I hope you can forget."