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To your knees, this daily passion |
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You don't feel anything |
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You couldn't raise the knife across him |
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But would you dare ask anyone |
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To take away all the blame? |
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What if you, aren't responsible? |
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Would it ease this life a little |
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To see him buried instead? |
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The sweat of your back now sticks to the carpet |
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As he moves himself out from the press |
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You couldn't ask for a better father |
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The words once expressed from your mouth |
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Now eat them away, or take to the grave |
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You're a pretty girl, honey |
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If he would just die |
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Then I might be happy, mother |
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So count to sleep my dearest |
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MarthaYou know you should, but you won't leave |
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ArthurWould it not be for you, then please for the children' |
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Cos if you won't, they will, if you won't, they will |
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And maybe for them, maybe them |
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This is the last, you'll say in the shower |
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As your blood curves a path |
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When mixed with the water |
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I'll do it myself so it's done |
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To the right of all ways, |
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I will bury his grave |
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I'm a pretty girl, funny |
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Out from the woods a light burns in shadow |
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A notice to a girl with a gun |
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So count to sleep my dearest |
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MarthaYou know you should, but you won't leave |
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ArthurWould it not be for you, then please for the children' |
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Cos if you won't, they will, if you won't, they will |
|
And maybe for them, maybe them |
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So count to sleep my dearest |
|
MarthaYou know you should, but you won't leave |
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ArthurWould it not be for you, then please for the children' |
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Cos if you won't, they will, if you won't, they will |
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And maybe for them, maybe them |
