The bullet hole looks so right in your head like it'd been missing all along
the blood streaked across your face like some twisted lover's deformed
lipstick trace staring at your reflection wondering how you're still alive
wondering if she's somewhere laughing deciding whether to let you die
the blood streaked across your face like some twisted lover's deformed
lipstick trace staring at your reflection wondering how you're still alive
wondering if she's somewhere laughing deciding whether to let you die