It has been years since my heart was open
Might have been an open sore
Or a sore wound bleeding profusely
But it was kind of happy
Dancing in its ignorance

Delusions were feathered pillows
That I rested my head upon
To sleep soundly through the night
Dreaming of hope and love

Now I love to forget hope
Sink deeper into that simmering ***
Boiling at two hundred degrees
Red skin scabbing no heart babbling

About false hope and fake lovers
Maybe one more night will find
That old light