i'm a prisoner of opinion behind the bars of my mind the key is out of reach from the chains on my feet my mouth wants to shout it has come to this amount
you were so perfect when I picked you up every part sculpted to a delicate perfection I clutched you tightly in my hand for a while you sat in my room but now you've died and with you so have I
if you can't get over him now what will you do when you're eighty slowly turning blue the days fade away and you turn grey with the thought of him tattooed on your skin