.. and then the poor man asked me for my hand!

You have a record.

Straight from the battlefield, heed my whispered roars
I will not rest until you yield, my bloody mess all yours
I have no weapons designed to fight, no helmet for my mind
I'll have you just with what I am, no shield to hide behind.

I hope that it's enough, for I won't stop till it's done.
The outcome is all yours, it's your bare hand that holds the gun.
Shoot me and I'll die, soon, sometime, someday.
It might steal all my years but I will die anyway.

Like all things bad for me I'm addicted to the pain,
Yet like all things bad for you there is everything to gain.
Maybe this war of ours will have no end in sight
Or maybe we won't see it in the darkest depths of night.

Maybe I will scream and beg and kill and fuck you up,
I'll pursue relentlessly until you do ask me to stop.
Then I'll drop it all instantly, immediately, right away.
True battles are fought with two, the rest is just child's play.

And though I'd like to be, I fear I am no child,
Though more so than the rest, true, all my hairs are wild.
And maybe that's exactly why I feel this will go on,
A little girl's hope that one day her war is won.