They ask me what I want for Christmas,
I tell them that I don't know yet...

Sitting in my room alone,
Sitting looking at the phone...

The knife is my best friend,
The friend I love to hate...

I told myself I wouldn't do it,
I thought that I was above all of this stuff...

Lie there clenching my fist real tight,
Trying to fall asleep at night...

Urges come over me,
The tears continue to flow...

In those rare moments when I feel fine,
You bring me down and my all healed wrist develops...

I wrote you a poem,
I wrote it with a blade...

It's the comfort that I need,
It's the feelings I get watching myself bleed...

My perfect life is all a lie,
A lie that no one sees through...

And with these final words I'll end my life,
I never thought this would be how I'd die...

The sound of the knife, calling my name,
it's too hard to ignore, I can't play this game...