Deep are the wounds that scar your arm,
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For love will cause you to do self-harm.
Your beloved has found another shirt,
All you feel is lonely and hurt.
She is there now, in his arms, his home,
While you’re out there, lost on your own.
You’re in the twilight of life, feeling tired.
Now that you’re dead, life long expired,
Your girl’s at the funeral, holding his hand,
On her finger, a sparkly gold band.
Curse them to their graves. Make her pay.
She’s the one who walked out that day.
They deserve to die, for in Hells fire, you burn.
You make them crash. Now it’s their fiery turn.