The damsels dance to the song of misfortune,
they sacrifice you as the token of their opportune;
they give you their blood to drink as you please,
leaving you unaware of their veins carrying disease;
the beloved tocsin of jealousy, hatred and truth,
lapping up your grace, your love and your youth;
so see now as you are sacrificed for their good,
see now as you are put unto the burning wood;
for you exist only to please their bleeding knives,
you exist only to stain red over their sorry lives;
so when will your crumbling heart finally realize,
that you exist only to bring yourself your demise.