Žodžiai dainai: Emilie Autumn. Opheliac. The Art of Suicide.

The art of suicide, nightgowns and hair
Curls flying every which-way
The fate too pure to hide, ridges of size
Meant to conceal lover's lies

Under the arches of moonlight and sky
Suddenly easy to contemplate why

Why, why live a life
That's painted with pity and sadness and strife?
Why dream a dream
That's tainted with trouble and less than it seems?

Why bother bothering
Just for a poem or another sad song to sing?
Why live a lie? Why live a lie?

The art of suicide, gritty and clean
Conveys a theatrical scene
Alas, I've gone she cried, veins displayed
Melodramatically laid

Under the arches of moonlight and sky
Suddenly easy to contemplate why

Why, why live a life
That's painted with pity and sadness and strife?
Why dream a dream
That's tainted with trouble and less than it seems?

Why bother bothering
Just for a poem or another sad song to sing?
Why live a lie? Why live a lie?

Why live a life
That's painted with pity and sadness and strife?
Why dream a dream
That's tainted with trouble and less than it seems?

Why bother bothering
Just for a poem or another sad song to sing?
Why live a lie? Why live a lie?
Why live a lie? Why live a lie?

Life is not like a gloomy Sunday
With a second ending where the people are disturbed
Well, they should be disturbed
Because there's a story that ought to be heard

Life is not like a gloomy Sunday
With a second ending where the people are disturbed
Well, they should be disturbed
Because there's a lesson that really ought to be learned

The world is full of poets, we don't need any more
The world is full of singers, we don't need any more
The world is full of lovers, we don't need any more