Cut your tongue on my apathy and paint me a picture of your woes.
Make the contrast sharp, so that I understand.
Don’t go muddying up the image with intricacies, get to the point.
We don’t want any misconstruing.
Untie the tongue of your callousness. I’m sure she’s got plenty to say.
If I’m going to bleed for you, I’m going to need you to lick my wounds.
Because the stars are starting to fade again and tomorrow just won’t mean much if you’re not here.