| i never want to see you
|
| in the raw and searing flesh
|
| i don’t ever want to hear you
|
| singing softly to the dead
|
| i never want to feel your skin
|
| running warm along my side
|
| i don’t ever want to sink that way again
|
| it would be easier to die
|
| to die
|
| i’m tending the parts of my frustrations
|
| burning leaves on buried dreams
|
| kneeling in to rake the ashes
|
| i’m in the rain, it’s colder out
|
| my hands are free,
|
| my lungs are proud
|
| your forgivness is a failing fiction
|
| your forgivness is a failing fiction
|
| these flames have never burned so high
|
| i won’t be starting in your eyes
|
| i’m trying hard to remember
|
| the way the smoke drifts through the air
|
| we’ll all be dead come november
|
| four months out of every year
|
| every year
|
| (every year)
|
| i won’t be staring in your eyes
|
| every year |