" Lord knows
he has his issues.
He's cruel, and he makes a hobby of making the people who love him cry. Punishment is his favourite word. He loves to make me bleed, and bleed, and bleed.
He will tell them I'm his wh.ore.
oh, I'll pretend to be surprised,
(and kiss him so hard it hurts until our night belongs to me and me alone)
and tell him he's the worst thing that ever happened to me.
My mother told me I was insane; why did I fall in love with such a twisted man?
oh, I'll tell her i had no control over it,
(but i do cherish the scars he gives me, i do, i do)
and promise him that this will be the last time.
Wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked -- they all say it, over and over, and i know it's true
(but he is human and he cries, and when he does i swear i see stars)
I know that in three years time, we'll go to our best friends' weddings and they will sit us apart. He'll find his way to me, or I to him, and he'll ask her to dance in front of me, and smirk at me as he kisses her--
and I'll accidentaly (oh, accidentally) fall into the lap of some rich someone-or-other, and laugh at all the wrong jokes, and tuck my head in with my eyes wide open and on him the whole time--
and another night will belong to us,
and i'll find bruises in the morning
(the scar of my teeth on his shoulder will look too pale in the moonlight)
and we'll whisper careless words like love and hate and for-never,
and he'll hold me, tight, right and warm, telling lies like we're going to be okay, darling.
I only want to hurt if he's doing to hurting. I like his eyes. He likes the way I ruffle his ridiculous bedhead in the morning, and kiss his cheek.
We kiss like rivals. We fight like lovers.
He'll probably be the death of me... but that's okay, darling. "
He's cruel, and he makes a hobby of making the people who love him cry. Punishment is his favourite word. He loves to make me bleed, and bleed, and bleed.
He will tell them I'm his wh.ore.
oh, I'll pretend to be surprised,
(and kiss him so hard it hurts until our night belongs to me and me alone)
and tell him he's the worst thing that ever happened to me.
My mother told me I was insane; why did I fall in love with such a twisted man?
oh, I'll tell her i had no control over it,
(but i do cherish the scars he gives me, i do, i do)
and promise him that this will be the last time.
Wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked -- they all say it, over and over, and i know it's true
(but he is human and he cries, and when he does i swear i see stars)
I know that in three years time, we'll go to our best friends' weddings and they will sit us apart. He'll find his way to me, or I to him, and he'll ask her to dance in front of me, and smirk at me as he kisses her--
and I'll accidentaly (oh, accidentally) fall into the lap of some rich someone-or-other, and laugh at all the wrong jokes, and tuck my head in with my eyes wide open and on him the whole time--
and another night will belong to us,
and i'll find bruises in the morning
(the scar of my teeth on his shoulder will look too pale in the moonlight)
and we'll whisper careless words like love and hate and for-never,
and he'll hold me, tight, right and warm, telling lies like we're going to be okay, darling.
I only want to hurt if he's doing to hurting. I like his eyes. He likes the way I ruffle his ridiculous bedhead in the morning, and kiss his cheek.
We kiss like rivals. We fight like lovers.
He'll probably be the death of me... but that's okay, darling. "
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