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 d**h 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 d**h it seems the only answer.
Disapointed tired sweetheart you won't be the one to depart,
k**ing 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