| Bed of nails and a heart of gold
|
| Never cries for a stories told
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| No friends in the art of pain
|
| No rest till she sees him again
|
| No love from the souls they save
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| No soul ever knows her face
|
| It’s a crime, it’s a crying shame
|
| These are the rules of the dying game
|
| She falls for this thing called murder
|
| The fear only takes her further
|
| She tries to hide but it pulls
|
| It pulls
|
| It pulls her back again
|
| She lives for this thing called murder
|
| She swears it will never hurt her
|
| She lives the lie and it pulls
|
| It pulls
|
| It pulls her back again
|
| She’ll start a fire with no oxygen
|
| Finds joy in burning the hearts of men
|
| Never worried about being condemned
|
| She says we’re all gonna die in the end
|
| She hides what lies within
|
| As she covers up her eyes with sin
|
| Cold eyes and pale skin
|
| Just shows me that she’s dying within
|
| She falls for this thing called murder
|
| The fear only takes her further
|
| She tries to hide but it pulls
|
| It pulls
|
| It pulls her back again
|
| She lives for this thing called murder
|
| She swears it will never hurt her
|
| She lives the lie and it pulls
|
| It pulls
|
| It pulls her back again
|
| When murder calls she glides again
|
| The taste of love, she’s alive again
|
| The trust, the drug
|
| The fire within
|
| The chamber in her mind
|
| Holds the key that lets her in
|
| She falls for this thing called murder
|
| The fear only takes her further
|
| She tries to hide but it pulls
|
| It pulls
|
| And it pulls her back again |