Cut me open, bleed me dry 

A knife not a tool, a liberator

There is the forgiving woman with sorrow

Deep in those eyes, to a place 

I am oh so unfamiliar with

There are places you know, you see

It is the dark holding our sparks 

A flock of deft touches and harmony

Yet the pulse of the thunder rolls over

Sparks scattered, hidden or gone 

You will never, never...

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