She held it next to me,
as I expected there was no time to flee.

She put the bag over my head just to take it off,
she tied me up so I couldn't walk.

The blood still stained on my jacket,
from heavy ole' hatchet.

She looked me in the eyes,
I begged her to not let me die.

Looking me up and down,
her fire told her not to let me feel the ground.

She demanded, "Tell me the truth!"
A tear fell as I said, "I'm sorry I do not love you."

She kicked the chair,
knocking out all my air.

She walked away in her black dress,
leaving a red rose next to her bloody mess.

As I hung there from that old oak tree,
it left memories of Rosalie.