She's running with wild horses
no fear of falling down...

Put on a mask
lets head to the show...

You smile at me
it's meant for her...

You're reading those letters
those sweet sounding love letters...

There's something wrong with this picture
i can tell you what it is...

She started chasing butterflies
when she was only two...

Broken ballet slippers
stained in blood...

She's slipping away
drowning in pieces...

Spin her round and round
whisper her name in her ear...

It's a funeral for the damned
screaming voices from the grave...

Her dress is as black as her teary eyes
her wrists as red as the rose she holds...

The blood is pouring from your beating heart
your tears are staining your white wedding dress...