Those prying eyes are vultures eyes, your face I should be hiding.
At last I am confiding in you.
Your deeds are full of worthiness but end in abstract emptiness you're going
to die a witch's death it's true.
And if one of us should chance to die, the other only has to mourn,
Grief could be the one true feeling death it seems the only answer.
Disapointed tired sweetheart you won't be the one to depart,
killing you's the only thing to do.
Jesus knows that I'll be saved, I want the water in which you bathed,
The love I felt is just no there, I confess I used you as a Broodmare.
Every one hates newly weds and everybody goes to bed with someone no less pretty
then themselves,
burying the venom in a caskett six feet under when you wake up from your slumber
watch your back.
you could cut the air with a knife in here or cut your throat from ear to ear,
For the glory of our new born child please don't weep and please don't
cry,
There's still a trace of lust for you but I no longer trust in you,
I'll miss you when your buried in that box.
Won't let anybody burn my wicker girl
