Текст: Protest The Hero. Scurrilous. Hair-Trigger.

That sweet little redhead's got her hooks in my back
she points her finger and she shows me what i lack
her pale skin, it burns so hot in the midnight air
she paints the streets a shade of grey and around my chair

her hot breath on my skin and her scent on my fingers
her taste is on my mind, it constantly lingers

on and on until i can breather her again
on and on until i can believe her again
on and on until i can grieve her again
on and on until i can leave her in the end

every kiss is a little sickening
i can feel death's fingers quickening
tightening my passage ways
if you can't count the years start counting the days
try to remember that she hates you, and though she might elate you, she tries
to kill the great that's in you now
she's hand picked the fate that awaits you, but despite her words it's not too
late...

I wrote a goddamn love song, to praise everything i hate and kids worldwide
sand the chorus line and they sealed my picture's frame
she might run shit for right now, but I'll be damned if it's forever and always
as the chorus line fades away like friends in high school hallways
oh, i got this feeling, that things will never be the same

'what about those rainy nights in london? what about the crippling desert heat?
what about all those times you swore you'd never leave me'
'what about the hospital in L.A.?'
'you took me back after that night'
'what about that blackened image in my mind?'
'i swear I'll burn with a new light'
'what about that frozen, dripping holiday bird thats cold?'

she's cold as ice...