Would bring your guns Sour guns, to kill me Save no guns, I'm not afraid Would you keep your joy Sweet sick joy, away Sweet sick joy you're out of reach Send me back where I belong To swallow all the bullets on my own Send me back where I belong I'll get rid of all this grief all alone I would use your knives Cold sharp knives So sweetly That my arms may not bleed I would heal my wounds Rotten wounds So neatly That my soul may not feel