Cut my wrists and blood will fall.
I can not run, but yet I crawl.
I set myself upon a stand.
Blood is still flowing down my hand.
To where in the center I hold a knife.
Hurt myself, but leave my life.
Broken vase, shards of glass.
Blood is still falling fast.
One by one, two by two,
The puddle under grew and grew.
Until one day it got so bad.
No one knew the pain to be had.
Let my spirits drop down low.
Still the blood must keep a flow.
Still no stopping found at all.
Cut my wrists and blood will fall. -
