I just want to write about anything that's ever really hurt me,
About everything that's ever really gotten to me.
I want to let it all out.
Just leave it all on the pages in odd shapes.
I want it to play tricks and trade things in places they shouldn't be.
And when it doesn't fit, I want it to just be the way it should be, where it falls then, perfectly.
If our angels, are telling us to part? Then who are we, to say we're not? With these wings, that they have gave, we'll fly fly, fly away, won't come back again. Though if you say you're here to stay, I might just have to stay away. And if these palms still they shake, I might just have to stay that way.
The fire that kept you warm, could take your fucking house,
For fucks sake it could always just burn out.
Drop you off in some dead town,
And somehow through that, you have found, that you don't even know yourself.
Cause the things that you love could burn you down,
Whether it fades or goes out loud.
The things that you love could burn you down.
The ending only seems worse for now.