| You’re bleeding through your head and hands, your pale white skin means it’s a
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| plan
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| To work the freakshow booths amongst the damned
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| Bleeding lady of the freakshow, they gasp at how your blood does flow
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| The end is soon your deathly pallor shows
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| You’re crying blood your tear-stained face, they stare at you, you’re left no
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| grace
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| No dignity, respect to save face
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| A living corpse in the booth sits, you even shut up drunken gits
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| The blood from you does drip
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| A haemophiliac each night, a freakshow star, give them a fright
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| You’re called the vampire of the night
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| You sit inside your crimson cloak, inside your heart, your heart is broke
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| The tears of utter anguish choke
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| By a plastic candlestick they marvel how you look so sick
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| You’d like a dagger in their backs to stick
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| One day soon it will all cease, your illness it will increase
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| Then your suffering it will cease |