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Stains on the sofa looks like fruit punch
Right, good hunch truth is, I seen blood
In my father’s eyes, then I saw red
When my mother started to cry
That when my father had to die
No more tears from mothers eyes
Wipe the blood off the knife
Answer some questions, tell some lies
Oh, how he fell on the blade
That lay in the cushion of the couch
What scream? All I heard was an “OUCH”
The cut wasn’t deep enough he got back up
Lived to tell the tale about how he fell
On the steak knife that I held, that night
He knew he dwelled in the pit of hell
Every time he looked into my burning eyes
