I'm sitting here with a razor blade  
that says she's my best friend,  
and her voice is so smooth  
I almost believe her,  
wouldn't you if you were me?  
  
The night always seems to call  
roulette and razor blades into my veins,  
when thoughts of you are knotted in my stomach,  
sour coils of flesh  
that drudge up the darkest thoughts.  
Words that stain the air  
and turn to rust on my lips.  
  
I thought I had finally cast out this craving,  
the hunger running under skin.  
I can see it when I close my eyes,  
the river wrapped around my arm  
trickling down to death.  
  
And the devil on my shoulder  
whispers sweet nothings  
through bloodthirsty lips.  
  
The morbid thoughts shed skin  
and become the virtuous  
in the cover of dark.  
When the mind crosses over  
and wanders into the realms that daylight forbids,  
or daylight forgot.  
  
I'm sitting here with a razor blade  
that says she's my best friend,  
and her voice is so smooth  
I almost believe her.  
She says that she can make it quick.  
Press it down, blade to bone.  
It won't last long enough to trouble anyone  
and neither will I.