Is that what you think of me?
The way you grab my hand?
Are you giving me a place to go?
Like maybe your pocketed heart?

Yet in that very moment,
The kaleidoscope begins it's turn,
As the walls turn to stone,
so I'm left all alone.

You hold his hand and breath his ash,
But he's not looking into your eyes,
He's not giving you his heart but docking it away,
Why can't you see?
There's lack of love and a spoonful of lust.

I won't get in between this love-hate war,
You killed yourself to wear the skin,
And underneath all the grime and tides,
I think you are lovely,
He thinks you've got a good body.

I think you are gorgeous,
He thinks you are dangerous.

I think you are lovely,
He's thinking, "Hope we do this roughly."

Is that what you think of me?
The way you grab my hand?
Are you giving me a place to go?
Like maybe your pocketed heart?