that romanticism it chokes you
trying to holding sweet moments
and hoping for more again
looking for some soft memories
when there were never any
drinking cocoa like it wasn't gasoline
sugar down your throat like *******

you're acting lovely and wistful
like love wasn't a gun to the head
a threat on your deathbed
let go and cut your puppet strings
even if they connect to the parachute
the keeps you from an ocean of doubt
full of salty tears to drown you