| I can’t make you happy anymore
|
| And it will take less effort to leave
|
| Than carry on with this burden
|
| Of being your joy
|
| And it would be lying to say
|
| That you’re still worth it to me
|
| Every word that we’ve said
|
| Fell so hard at our feet
|
| Every move that we made
|
| This should have been enough
|
| And this fruit hangs so low
|
| It just wants to let go
|
| Oh, it swells with a poison
|
| That used to be love
|
| This used to be love, oh…
|
| Small betrayals and these orphaned deeds unattached to love
|
| Are pulling this home, into the ground and we are in the walls
|
| Your love tastes like blood left from blows you never landed
|
| And all my affection is a swarm of duty and guilt
|
| And this will destroy you and I will stand like a stranger
|
| Who never adored you
|
| So I lay in this bed beside your body
|
| But miles of words and deeds lie in between
|
| And should we brave that space to find each other
|
| We’d have to meet the ghosts of our conceit
|
| (We speak words to calm our ears
|
| That all we loved was never there)
|
| Every word that we’ve said
|
| Fell so hard at our feet
|
| Every move that we made
|
| This should have been enough
|
| And this fruit hangs so low
|
| It just wants to let go
|
| Oh, it swells with a poison
|
| This used to be love
|
| It should have been enough, oh… |