It makes sense that I'd find
the song that makes me burn for you
through the boy who keeps me sane.

It makes sense that, in time,
I'd actually mourn for you
instead just carving crimson lines.

It makes sense that I'd find
a tentative replacement for you,
albeit for a limited time.

It makes sense that I'd find
a way to never let you go
as long as I let go of my sanity.

The funny thing is,
your replacement?
Is ******, while you...
you were nicotine.

She's arsenic, while you...
you were simply rat poison.
You were Corona,
and she is Bacardi.

You were my lullaby,
but she was my morning's song.
Now Bacard is my lullaby,
and Jesse Lacey is my morning's song.

I know that this is what you want.
A funeral keeps both of us apart.
You know that you are not alone.
Need you like water in my lungs.

This is the end.