Slit my wrist and watch me die,
the sad part is you wouldn't cry.
Not a tear,
nor a fear,
not a regret on my sad bet.
But, of course you wouldn't cry,
I am the one who did lie.
I am the one who needs to fry,
needs to lie in what is mine.
In the red of my bed,
the covers of my dread.
My sheets on which you were beat,
the frame on which we were destined to meet.
The spring mattress on which we made love,
the pillow case on which we shot our sacred dove.

Let me lie,
and let me see...
Let me see,
what you really mean to me...