The youth on the streets today

Is different from the youth of yesterday

Falling in love with depression

Losing their sense of self

Feeling alone when they're not alone

Never trusting others to help

And so they, so they

Become one and the same

Crimson scars from deep cuts

What we call this, this

Razorblade romance

Destitute, unseen

Hidden beneath the cover of a sleeve

And dark sunglasses hide something

More sinister indeed

Than the scars they wear, they bear

Upon their arms, underside and top

So much for the sanctity of mind, when it wears

Upon the body and brings them down so stop

Stop this senseless drama of appearance

So stop, stop this

Razorblade romance

We are who we want to be

But some of us aren't

Afraid of who they are and so they

Try to be what other pictures paint

Popular, loved by the masses

And so we say to kiss our asses

Fingers held high and in pride

Just one on each hand

The middle one weaved in a dance

Just inches away from the cuts they cut

A tragedy, this gravity, What it means to me

This, this, razorblade romance.