Arguing with tick-tock talking second hands,
In a language no one speaks or understands,
Losing hold of all the things I’ve never been,
As my whole life spins from the head of a pin,
It’s a piece to a puzzle of a subtle little stain,
The last gasping breath of a bubble in my brain,
We become love letters that nobody ever sends,
Or monsters in the closets of imaginary friends,
Still you sang forgiveness in that lonely lullaby,
Hidden under covers where nobody sees you cry,
Your cozy little rabbit hole, safety in the shade,
A quilted sanctuary, buried in the bed we made.