In her shadow you hid and bade your time, all the while looking like something she could love.
Yet she only saw you in the dark, playing the part of something she could love.
The day she found a flashlight and struck your moths askew was the day she sent you spiraling to the ground.
Do you know, oh do you know, what you did to her?

Now you jump from window to window, seeking the shelter of the darkness when she blinks.
You’re scared of imperfection in her thoughts, yet tomorrow you’ll see you’re as imperfect as it gets.
You tricked her into thinking you could help her with it all and she saw.
She sent you scurrying back to the shadows to dissolve calm widows there.

But she’s scared you’ll worm your way back to her brain-- you’re already planting seeds of relapse there.
So she swore to someone more faithful than you that what you are will not infect her brain anymore.
She was tolerant, let you bend her backbone, now she’s rigid, standing straight as stone.
She isn’t breaking and won’t bend for you anymore.

This someone she swore on everything to will do what it takes to make sure you’re gone.
So stay away, we don’t need your discomforting stare ruining our dreams anymore.