the walls cave in quick
my wrists sink into the bed
the lights are flashing red
i guess this is the end

your lips, they worshipped
me a century ago
but now, they leave bruises
treasure maps along my throat

hospital white walls
but the floor's littered with cigarettes
and underneath these cold sheets
is a familiar sense of regret

"sorry," you'll say
and we'll make up again
"sorry," you'll say
and i'll come back again