To your knees with this daily passion
You don't feel anything
You couldn't raise a knife across him
Would you dare ask anyone to?
Take away all the blame,
What if you aren't responsible?
Would it ease this life a little
To see him buried instead?

The sweat off back now sticks to the carpet
As he pulls himself out from the press
You couldn't have asked for a better father,
The words once expressed from your mouth
Now eat them away, or take to the grave
You're a pretty girl, honey
If he would just die then I might be happy, Mother?

So count to sleep, my dearest Martha
You know you should, but you won't leave Arthur
Would it not be for you, then please for the children?
Cause if you won't they will, if you won't they will
Maybe for them, maybe them

This is the last time, you'll say in the shower
As your blood curves a path when mixed with the water,
I'll do it myself so it's done
To the right of all way I will bury his grave
I'm a pretty girl, funny
Out from the woods a light burns in shadow,
Unnoticed to a girl with a gun