I can barely feel my heart racing under my tired ribs,
when I flash my razorblade smile,
to get her into bed.

Theres this dull ache for something missing,
when she begs for me but I know,
it wont mean anything in the morning.
My burnt out soul still holds the ashes of an artist I suppose.

I cant feel anything until Im dying,
cant hear the rush till Im bleeding out.
you took the fire that kept me warm,
and left a core of thunder