I’m beginning think you were born for this:
For this criminal choreography,
For this broken, sell your soul for a kiss,
Quite melodramatic psychology.
The role of the victim fits you quite well,
With your torn stockings and sick grin
As you waltz your pretty self down to hell
With a handful of pills and flowers and sins.
I’m thinking it’s simply in your nature
To seek out those who will burn you alive,
Enjoy the pain, and cry for it later.
I think you’ll do this ‘till you finally die.
I do not believe in coincidence.
I think you’ve tasted pain, and craved it since.