You love me like a poor boy
Who grew up without heat
Cold house cold room cold bed
Now you make my bed warm
But when you leave my souls cold
It’s hard to know what warmth is when it’s not in your vocabulary
There’s a pleasant sort of irony in lighting people on fire just to let them burn out
Tears can’t quench all flames
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
You love me like a poor boy
Who grew up without heat
Cold house cold room cold bed
Now you make my bed warm
But when you leave my souls cold
It’s hard to know what warmth is when it’s not in your vocabulary
There’s a pleasant sort of irony in lighting people on fire just to let them burn out
Tears can’t quench all flames
