The looking glass, so shiny and new, how quickly the glamour fades, I start spinning slipping out of time, was that the wrong pill to take?
The seer had told her to cut out the heart of her own father. As she walked away in a hurried, crazed frenzy, her mind ran as fast as her legs. But while her legs could get away from him, her mind could not get away from her own thoughts.
Raise it up, you made a deal and now, it seems you have to offer up, but will it ever be enough?
The selfish part of her, the maddened part, considered that if she took his heart, would it even work? She had to take out the heart of the thing she loved most. If she really loved him, why was she even considering it?
Raise it up, raise it up, it's not enough, raise it up, raise it up.
This was the man who had loved her back all these years, and cared for her through all of them, had warmed her frail, cold heart after she had lost him. What would she do without him? She would then be a complete, endless black cloud of sadness and hatred.
Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl, frozen in the headlights, it seems I made the final sacrifice.
How would she do it? Would she go behind his back, betray his trust, and stab him in his sleep? Suffocate him with her pillow? No. She would not. She would tell him, and even though he would try to convince her not to, she knew she had to. If she were to ever be happy, she would have to take his heart.
We raise it up, this offering, we raise it up.
She wiped away her tears as she entered the mansion, though she knew it would not be the last. She knew of the many tears through the many long years to come. But she convinced herself that one day it would all be worth this momentary pain and suffering.
This is a gift, it comes with a price, who is the lamb and who is the knife, Midas is king and he holds me so tight, and turns me to gold in the sunlight.
When she told him, his reaction was not that of disgust, but of understanding and kindness, which made it all that harder to imagine the blood dripping on her hands as she took his heart. Harder to imagine that rusty, slick blade twist and turn inside of him as he screamed. But these dark thoughts can hardly be cured by any kindness. They run on their own, untamed from clear and rational thoughts.
I look around but I can't find you, raise it up, if only I could see your face, raise it up.
As they hug, part of the darkness subsides, though she knows that the pause won't last. So, she closes her eyes and feels the tears drip down her tired face, and suddenly she's a little, carefree girl again, hugging her daddy goodnight. She is not even sobbing, the tears just come as she feels the love off of both of them, and she knows that while he is being reassuring, she is saying her last goodbye. But not with words, words are fake, can be turned against you. No, she is showing him her goodbye, making sure that they can both feel this love for one another right now, and remember that instead of the bloodshed that is about to take place.
I started rushing towards the starlight, raise it up, I wish that I could just be brave.
The sane part of her mind, that tiny fraction, thinks of his words, how she could be happy without revenge. How she could possibly find another love. But the idea of revenge is too sweet, so delicious, to be able to even think of turning it down. Even though here she is, or that fraction is, thinking of letting it go. Perhaps fill up the empty void that was left in her soul.
I must become the lion hearted girl, ready for a fight, before I make the final sacrifice.
She had a job to do, and that job was revenge. So she pulled back and quick before she could see that hurtful surprise in his eyes, pulled out her knife and stabbed him in the stomach and twisted and turned savagely. That was all she as now, a reflection of who she used to be, and what has become of her now.
We raise it up, this offering, we raise it up.
But when she gripped the knife and tugged it outward, before he fell to the floor in his death, he looked at her. She had told herself she wouldn't look, but she didn't listen and looked anyway, and how she will regret it. Those eyes, those kind and happy eyes, now forever filled with horror in her mind, an image burned eternally in her memory.
This is a gift, it comes with a price, who is the lamb and who is the knife, Midas is king and he holds me so tight, and turns me to gold in the sunlight.
Her shaking hand reached up and closed his eyes, her tears dripping unto his face below. But she could not take it back. What was done is done.
Raise it up, raise it up, raise it up, raise it up.
She forced her shaking hands to stay as still as possible, so that she could just cut it out and get it over with. She hurried with the task, and even more blood was spilled out onto the ground, and her tears fell faster, even blurring her vision. She reached up to wipe them away, and now the blood was upon her cheeks, like a wild animal hunting in the forest.
And in the spring I shed my skin, and it blows away with the changing wind, the water has turned from blue to red, as towards the sky I offer it.
She locked the heart up in the chest, and felt that hers too, was locked up forever, and would eventually burn out, just as her father's would tonight. Nothing loving would ever come from her now.
This is a gift, it comes with a price, who is the lamb and who is the knife, And Midas is king and he holds me so tight, and turns me to gold in the sunlight, this is a gift.