And then she knew, it was graver than before And then she knew they would never find a cure In time she'd be sorry that she asked Because he coldly answered, "Darling... Let my sins be scarlet, if it means my words are read, Let my songs be sung by those who don't belong When I am dead" He turns a page. In the front she has inscribed: My love, your words are a thousand dancing knives." In time, he'd be sorry that he asked Because she coldly answered, "Darling... They say each sin will write itself upon a guilty face Until the world may read with ease your heavy Fail from grace." Red ink, dripping from your fingers Red ink, can never be erased. If their fate was preordained, it was scribbled Across the skies With a chewed up leaky biro drooling ink on hows And whys Red ink, dripping from your fingers Red ink, can never be erased It's too late for us to turn the page.