My lover's hands are bloody.
My hands bandage my face.
I hit the floor.
I now hit my guilt and shame.
Honey, you keep pounding that paint brush.
Cover the paper in my decoration of pain.

I'll wrap up in my flesh cocoon.
My inner torment becomes in bloom.
And in the mist of my salty tears, I will banish all of my fears.
You've now fled the labyrinth of my mind.
Nothing but confusion is left behind.

No love remains.
Are you ashamed?
Now you've created my decoration of pain.

I'm wrapped up in my hollow home.
My lavender is slowly blossoming.
It's seems I'm floating on a wave as the healing creeps in once again.
Don't you give me your concerning eye.
That forgive me look won't work this time.

No love remains.
You don't feel ashamed.
I can't live in the decoration of my pain...no more.

The Artist must expire.
The Artist must leave my sight.
The Artist will never return.
It's time for him to feel some pain.

You've never cut of your ear for me.
You'll never paint me your heart.
You only see what you want to see.
You covered my beauty with black shade.

I will not remain.
I will not be your slave.
I will not be your decoration of pain.