he cares, oh, god, he cares
but why should he care?
she was nothing but an alcoholic,
suffering from careless pain.
he knew, yes, he knew
he knew much about her.
he loved her, he protected her
he devoted his time to her.
she worries, yet she worries
worries what love is.
the girlfriend and the others on her mind
seems to fade away.
the knife, a knife
a blade so shiny she could
see her reflection.
she left it.
he ran, indeed, he ran
ran to find her hopefully alive.
but as he sneaks in, he finds a gun,
a pistol of no other.
she wept, help her, god, she\'s weeping
thinking about suicide again.
but she didn\'t shoot herself.
she shot the portrait.
the portrait, yes, the portrait
a portrait of him and her
hugging and smiling.
a burning sensation in his lungs.
\"i\'m sorry,\" she repeated. \"i\'m sorry.\"
he wanted her to shut up,
and so he ran again,
hugging her like the portrait.
there\'s something about the portrait,
there\'s something about the portrait,
there\'s something about the portrait,
that makes him love her more than himself.