There's a small black house that I go into to hide
It’s cold and its dark, but I’m glad that it’s mine
And when the sun goes down, I hear someone talking outside
While I sit by exposed insulation and drink bottles dry
But I use his charm as a chaser that nixes the taste
It blurs my eyesight so I can block out his face
I enjoy the brokenness in everything, because it's my own little space

The ceiling fan makes me anxious and the heater is too loud, but it's a tranquil kind of place
You'd understand if you lived here

It's always before the sun goes down, and before the evening can begin
I beg for his voice to leave but I’m still dying to let him in
But he’s always been such a bad listener
He is just a visitor
And I am still his prisoner
My hands are shaking as I slowly lock the door
And I ******* hate how I can’t hold myself together and keep dropping to the floor
I can’t sleep anymore
Everything I have ever done was done simply because he exists
I’ve got a black and white tattoo of a matchbox on my wrist
For every time I want to burn down this house and he won't let me
For every time I start panicking
but I really don't want to fight
Because every time I think it's bad here, he convinces me it's alright
And I really don't want to make him mad at me again


“Let’s go for a drive”, he tells me as he downs another beer

And I wish I had the nerve to go with him and get out of here,
but I’m drunk again because he keeps leaving bottles in the hallway
And if I left at this time of night, who knows what the voices would say


he’s sliding the car keys under my door