For its haunting, it's taunting
The own thought of looking in the mirror again
Frightens the poor girl with the slaughter self-esteem with the blame on her friend
It's work, it's berserk
The own taste of food on your lips
Just gives you the thought of added weight to your hips
It's great, it's fate
The feeling of the blade bordering your wrists
Leaving marks with a twist
