I'm not really good at not killing things Especially the things I love
You gave me a rose bush And I, and I lit it on fire That's what you call desire
I'm misguided My soul trajectory is off Just like cupid plays with arrows of love Sometimes God messes up We are all astray
In this cosmic chaos But I still met you and try love, you In my misguided way
I try to put that soul into every cigarette I smoke Inhale, choke, definetly definetly go broke Because you can try But, but it is all rigged like carnival We're the ones telling ourselves the lies
We are Adam and Eve As far as knowledge We are only seeds
You can be certain of nothing and anything Superposition You are, you are the fiction
Those petals, I want them to burn like those lies in September, the end the Summer kind of heat, humid like rainshowers above head in your throat in your lonely lonely bed.
So I put the cigarette down in an ashtray in a mirror house I am tiny I have breathed most of my life out
In ways my reflection is changing
"I guess we've seen what it's like now, to be lovers. To scream that we're nothing without each other.''
Heart ache is so catchy. Unlike like the cat in your alley. Isn't it all about being relatable. Isn't that shallow and sad. That pain is what brings us the closest.