there's melancholy softness in feeling detached, cobblestone streets and fake flowers, i don't want them anymore.
when i woke this morning i couldn't feel like myself, i don't know who you are when we fight against them, who am i.
i'm ashamed of the dark, you're a friend to it, too, but that doesn't make any of this stone-scraped melancholy sweeter.
where are we going, where will we go,
who are we fighting, down in this hole.
i shrugged it off like a metallic tilted fly, you left, i cried, died a little inside.
it's all my fault, dark twisted dreams led me down a path of savage thorns, and now they're yours to carry, too.
i never would have gone, if i knew they would be yours, i wouldn't have, i wouldn't have, i.