The snow white little princess,
Walks through the woods.
And hides her pale and tragic face,
Behind her ebony hood.
She comes here to think,
And she comes here to cry.
And sometimes she hides behind the elegant trees,
For no reason why.
And sometimes she comes here to sleep,
In her bed of blood red roses.
She closes her eyes and dreams,
And then she can't hear the voices.
The voices of hatred,
The voices of the monsters.
The voices that crowd around and choke her.
She can't fight back, they're stronger.
And now she lies down in her bed of roses,
And takes out her silver knife.
In the knife, reflections of a troubled girl,
Flash before her eyes.
And as the warm scarlet flows down her arms,
She knows she won't hurt anymore,
She closes her eyes and lays back her head,
So she can sleep forevermore.