The first mistake he made
Was comparing me to the moon.
He saw a pattern in my sadness,
A floating echo, a heavy balloon,
People are not echos.
What else could I say?
He would strangle me with flattery
if it would excuse his behavior from saturday.
I will not humor him. I will not do it.
But his persistence may corner me into violence.

No, the moon does wonders
It shines, and then it passes
Hiding behind clouds of wet thunder
It moves me, and the masses

Scraping his guts off the wall, he cried
Drunkenly sighed my name
gave me all the blame
Because I had agreed to pregame
So I should bear all kinds of shame
for enduring his obsessive habit,
even a minute of it,
and for getting tagged into his suicidal ball game.

After all my patience and dedication and stories,
they're finally sold.
So, what now?
Just **** out their souls?
Egos covered in rage and big talk and
lonely, putrid mold.
Now I am just finished.
This house is finished.

Yes, it takes a thousand moments.
Yes, it takes lies and perseverance.
There are hundreds of ways to get what you want.
I might look delicate but I
feel pretty blunt.
Why should I pause for a beast I've condemned?
He does not glow,
he is not moving,
he has only loved in vain.
I would like you
instead.

I love when you come back.
You wax and wane.
You are too big for my pain.
You are the light in the night.
You are always out of sight.

there is so much grace to see
and so many ways to be
Wait With Me Patiently
Bless Me With Your Ability