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Wounds

I would cut myself deep enough to decorate by body with ridged scars,
To show my pain and my tears.
But you don't care.
Then, when I'm laying there at night,
And the sensitive fingers of my lover brush over my arms he will find them.
With pain in his voice he will ask me why
And when I tell him the story of how you hated me,
It will just rip my heart to pieces.
I hope your happy
When I lay in my lover's arms,
Crying.