I guess all the songs I wanted to play at my wedding
will just have to play at my funeral instead
I guess that the stain made from my blood spreading
Will just have to leak onto my bedspread
She said, “Live every day like it’s your own heaven,”
So when I die, lay me down on a rose-bed
The thorns will ***** during my personal armageddon
But I think I’ll wake up by next weekend
I breathe in the honey of your words for the last time
and I feel your wings brush against my hair
When it rains I like the sounds of the windchimes
It’s something I’ll miss when I disappear
But darling, if I was me then it would be a crime
so tell everyone to say a little prayer
And a few things here made me feel sublime
but now I gotta stop my internal warfare

I don’t think I want to see my own face
I don’t think I want to breathe, I’m choking on your lace