Your lips taste like you hate me again,
but your hands look comfy in mine.
You said that I smell of the Sunsets on Titan,
and my eyes are like our old VHS tapes.
My smile is like the evening sun,
hitting the patio of your old English home.
That my touch is a whisper,
and my heartbeat is irregular.
It doesn't mean I'm different,
it doesn't mean I'm sober.
Let me li(v)e my life away,
into the arms of our conscience,
don't stay in wait for me,
we won't meet again.