I spin her head,
From shadows, silk and spider web,
I place her on my empty bed,
And leave her there for dead,

And off I go,
Like a lamb to the slaughter,
And off I trot,
Like a virgin to the alter,


I embrace my demise,
And I make it mine,
Cause what good are tears,
Terrors, scream and night fears,
When you're out of time?

I leave her in her Sunday best,
Place dead babies on her chest,
Lock the door on all the rest,
Who could love me any less?

And here I go,
Lamb equals slaughter,
And there I go,
Death's pretty daughter,


I created my demise,
And so I made it mine,
I've used up my tears,
My terrors, screams and night fears,
Cause I'm out of time,

This time,
I'm out of time...