One cut, two cuts, three cuts, four.
No one's coming to the door.
Five, six, seven, or more.There's no point in trying,
This pain is undying.The only thing that seems to sooth me is the slow flow of red through me.
Cuts
One cut, two cuts, three cuts, four.
No one's coming to the door.
Five, six, seven, or more.There's no point in trying,
This pain is undying.The only thing that seems to sooth me is the slow flow of red through me.