| I am never truly alone
|
| Acceptance is slipping in, gripping limbs
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| Its crooked fingers intertwine
|
| They cradle us together
|
| A hundred years alone could never make it stop
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| Push it back
|
| I cannot fit, I cannot feel
|
| They should not see, suspended in time
|
| And their eyes are like razors
|
| The edges can sharpen the line
|
| This is love, this is ordinary life
|
| What a thrill stringing up splendid lights to paralyze
|
| They burn to the touch, pretending at God
|
| Listen to the blood, razor blade eyes
|
| I want a goddamn mess to ignite the fire
|
| I want to lie in severance, leave me to cut my teeth
|
| Pretending at God is a custom
|
| The vessel to siphon my love from
|
| Their eyes are a razor to cut me down, cut me down
|
| This is love
|
| This is love, this is ordinary life
|
| What a thrill cheap enough to get caught on the edge this time
|
| Razor blade eyes
|
| This is love, this is love
|
| Make it stop, this is love
|
| This is love, make it stop
|
| Make it stop
|
| This is love, this is love
|
| Make it stop, this is love
|
| This is love, this is love
|
| This is love, this is love |