When your blood stops spurting out
I will pick up the knife.
Then cry, and cut my own heart out,
The way I tried to end your life.
A thousand blades come to my hands,
One for every stolen kiss.
Maybe, perchance, we'll meet again,
And kiss in the pits of tartarus.
But now, forgive me for my heinous crime,
And for the hundred broken vows.
But please, darling, promise me
To never forgive me for loving you.