| Down a spiral stairway
|
| Like a blackout memory
|
| You prop up your work
|
| Like a figure of straw
|
| Keeping your ghosts from the garden
|
| But is it red ripe or deadened skin?
|
| Spiraling further in
|
| Spiraling further in
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your guardian anymore
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your medicine anymore, anymore
|
| I am a moment in time
|
| When your eyes start to wander
|
| And your head starts to spin
|
| From the simplest task
|
| Deciding what you will wear
|
| Finding faults in a straight line
|
| I have to remember to stop
|
| Wringing out the same cloth
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your guardian anymore
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your medicine anymore, anymore
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your guardian anymore
|
| Burn a candle to my skin
|
| Turn the handle, let me in
|
| I can not be your medicine anymore, anymore |