From the recording The Knife
The knife cuts a hole in that beautiful chest,
Through the silk fabric in which you are dressed,
The blood seeps away like the joy sliding out of my soul.
You gave me a story, you gave me a sign,
You took from my hand what was rightfully mine,
But soon I found out that you didn't have the time all along.
Call me romantic, or call me a fool,
For the blade and the hammer were only a tool,
To keep you from telling I'm nobody's fool, all along...
You painted a picture, you fed me a line,
You gave me a choice that was your place or mine,
But the truth was revealed after one glass of wine in my bed.
You came along, swishing your pigtails; somewhat wholesale,
But how did I know the barbs that lay beneath there,
The scene was immortal, creating a rampage; on the page,
And fate was the one who turned me...
In another regime I'd have set up the vet,
Having left you alone with a dangerous pet,
But this is an Island where everyone knows everything.
Even with this poor system in some disarray,
I am sure they will give me an extended stay,
But needless to say that I got my own way in the end...