Write another story, play it up and make it art.
Tell me how it is, from the heart.
I'd sell my soul for a chance to live it over.
Recalling every touch, is it me or was it colder.
Six bullet sin, let's play russian roulette.
Bleed it out on sheets stained forever red.
Six bullet sin, lets play russian roulette.
Eulogy you whispered under your breath.
I'm not a poet girl, the story is over;
Is this the ending you want?
A perfect ballroom scene marred by bloodstained hearts, spewing tragedy.
