There is beer on the table and smoke in her eyes.
Blood on the ceiling that can't be disguised.
She's got one hand cut open and the other on her head as she cries.
And upstairs in the bedroom there's coke on the floor.
Curtains stitched shut and a hole in the door.
The shadows are moving and suddenly silence is pure.

She, had, it all.
The perfect little life in a quiet suburban house.
And he was everything she ever wanted him to be,
until the day he started drinking, set his anger free.
In the silence the blood runs free, Its funny how things work out for the worst.
I guess things, worked out for the worst.

She often lies awake at night,
and dreams about the past in spite of knowing,
it won't get her anywhere.
And she hope, tomorrow, could be a better day,
but now she's boring, a plane, to take her high again.

She, had, it all.
The perfect little life in a quiet suburban house.
And he was everything she ever wanted him to be,
until the day he started drinking, set his anger free.
In the silence the blood runs free, Its funny how things work out for the worst.
I guess things, worked out for the worst.

She exits the room, falls to the floor,
holds back the pain tries to open the door.
The neighbours outside try to brake in the back,
awake in the night, after hearing the attack.
They look through the window,
to catch a glimpse of the scene,
but can't see a thing, through the smoke and the steam.
Meanwhile in the house, she's hysterical and frantic,
grovels through the living room, lost in a panic.
She crawls up the stairs, climbs to the top,
struggles to the bathroom.

Turns the key in the lock.

(Instrumental Break)

She props her self up, leans on the sink,
reaches for the cabinet with no time to think.
She rummages and tears through the contents of the cupboard,
throwing away pill pots, bandages and clutter.
Eventually and object, catches her eye,
no time for second thoughts, no time for goodbyes.
She grasps to the blade, closes her eyes,
bites on her lip now she starting to cry.
There's someone upstairs, as they come down the hall,
they follow the trail of bloody hand prints up the wall.
They listen in the bathroom with their ear against the door,
and try to break it down, there's fucking blood on the floor.
There screaming 'Can you hear me?' , but there's no sound at all,
no sign of life, no response to the call.
Inside she is silent, there's peace in her mind,
she holds up the knife, she holds up the knife, she holds up the knife, she holds up the knife!