Look

down

at

the

bo-

dy

You

may

see

no

trace

of

wounds

But

in

the

eye

The

eye

of

the

be-

hol-

der

One

can-

not

as-

sume

Not

a

drop

of

blood

is

drawn

But

you

know

how

it

bleeds

Be-

ware

of

the

sharp

edged

wea-

pon

Called

hu-

man

being

It

is

a

shield

of

pas-

sion

And

strong

will

From

this

I

am

the

vic-

tor

In-

stead

of

the

kill

I

will

not

feed

your

hun-

ger

In-

stead,

I

bite

the

pain

Loo-

king

not

back,

but

for-

ward

I

bite

down

Try

to

co-

ver

up

the

trail

of

de-

ceit

And

dag-

gers

spawned

from

your

soul

Ac-

id,

the

tears

of

re-

morse

Flow

in

vain,

too

late

for

re-

grets

Save

it

For

the

next

ill-

fa-

ted

game

It

is

a

shield

of

pas-

sion

And

strong

will

From

this

I

am

the

vic-

tor

In-

stead

of

the

kill

I

will

not

feed

your

hun-

ger

In-

stead,

I

bite

the

pain

Loo-

king

not

back,

but

for-

ward

I

bite

down