On the table, on this table her life began to roll and fell.
Through that knife, that little knife, she turned it into hell.

From that boy, her only boy, oh she loved him so.
He ended her life, her only life, oh she loved him so.

A knot, what’s this? A knot, tied deep inside her heart.
It took a day, a day or even two, to tear it all apart.

A play, a simple play, she puts on through recitations.
Her life to lead, so simple indeed, through cuts and angry quotations.

It was the boy, the only boy, who could search her in to out.
He knows nothing of her, not one thing, she breathes in and cries out.

A tear of joy, a tear of lust, which one did she belong?
A tear it falls, oh if it must into a clever empty song.

She should have tried, she could have tried so much harder than she did.
To repair this hole, this empty hole, so this is the thing you call sin?

A dancing razor leaves a crimson red, oh the trail of beauty galore.
A splendor of nothing, the splendor of something, it seems like less but so
much more.

The sky breathes blue, a gentle breeze, and pushes her forward now.
The sky still quiet, it’s missing you, and it will give you back somehow.

The soul inside or her, her body on the marble floor, she’s lifeless but
able crying.
It’s rising slowly, dancing mournfully, her final breath is surely dying.

But who can stop these tears, empty bottles of fears? When all they are is
dead.
A pool of crystal blue, nothing compares to you, a sea of shining red.

Oh that boy, that very boy, his love was without a word.
Oh her soul, God bless her soul, she was the most painful thing you’d ever
heard.

She said I loved you, and I love always, but the feeling was a mirror on its
own.
He sent it back, dressed in black, death’s easy painful moan.

She took it away, life is the game we play, mirror, mirror on the wall.
Life is gone, oh you cry “How wrong!” but the shattered mirror had to fall.

Seven more years of this, of this and we now feel the cutting board.
It’s a pain of two, for me and you, that she lay upon that wooden floor.

Eyes so green, heart so dead, oh well she’ll be okay.
Look into that heart, lift up those swollen eyes, oh this tragic game we
play.

Life or death, death of life, it all adds up if you try.
Pull the strings, figure out the rest, do not question or ask why.

On that table, that simple table, she lay until she fell.
People cried, people screamed, their words were just “oh well.”

Behold this knife, her little toy knife, that makes the water fresh.
Did you hear the cry, that cry at night, that seemed to curl the flesh?

She was there, there in front of you, but you refused to see.
How could you be this way, why would you choose this way? Oh our game of
tragedy.

People do not see, they refuse to be blind, the calls of bitter remorse.
So this game, this fun little game, has thrown us way off course.

A tragedy inside a tragic line, a ballad of two and a death of one.
Death killed a human, love killed the woman, this game we play, so much fun.
 
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