Patron saint of lost causes and tired smiles
Heart as tragic as the setting of the sun
The awning of the moon never comes
I keep waiting for someone to save me
But all I do is drown
I leave a trail of broken pieces of myself in every room I enter
At the end of the year I reckon there won't be any of me left
Yet I still keep giving myself away to people who don't reciprocate it
I keep handing out my heart to people with slippery hands who never seem to hold it right
When it falls they turn away without being contrite
You call yourself my friends but really you're just another group of people among those who have already left me