Cut me. I bleed. But you’re used to this ugly crimson flowing out of me. Teach me to be obedient, Mistress, teach me to see. It’s a sad little sentiment, an ugly truth. And I’ve had my share of well fuck you too, but you two’s gone with out a trace, like a smile from a tired face, or an old runner losing pace, A young man searching for his place, a woman who wants it to be hers too. Is that woman you? I don’t wanna think, in fact I need a drink, But I don’t need another Glass house or another reason to hate the empire I’ve built, cause it tastes like my blood on your belt.