Copyright (c)2002 Raquel Lung

You can’t run your fingers,through my hair-the way you used to do

You’d get a grip,and yank it out-destroying what beauty grew.

You can’t hold a mirror,before my face-and tell me I’m so fat

Calling me names,as though to think-theres nothing wrong with that.

You can’t look at me,Oh no...you can’t-I’ll tell you...because you’re dead

You shot me once,I shot you twice-and left you in our bed.

You can’t throw that punch,my face would catch-as you’d bust open my lip

Holding my neck,my feet off the floor-as you’d tighten your deadly grip.

You can’t spit on me,as you scream in my face-with a beer can in your hand

Or force me to give you,what you want-when you can’t even stand.

You can’t rape me no more,Oh no...you can’t-I’ll tell you...because you’re dead

You shot me once,I shot you twice-and left you in our bed.