Today, my sadness turned to rage,
And my eyes filmed over with black.
I know I’ve said some awful things,
But I don’t want to take them back.
There is no use looking for me;
You wouldn’t recognize this face.
The golden angel has fallen,
And now a demon stands in her place.
Death has now become my color;
It turns out, I wear it quite well.
I will sneak in through his window,
And drag him with me back to hell.
This demon will show no mercy,
Won’t care if he whimpers or cries.
I’m the patron saint of suffering,
The goddess of little white lies.
There is something black inside me—
Yes, I am rotten to my core.
I am sorry to disappoint you;
I am not who I was before.