I mapped us out on the back of my hands
Soft skin stained with black ink plans
But my pen ran fast and the words would fade
When you called for clouds to rain out our parade

Before I knew it my clothes were soaked
And my slippery hands fell to the end of your rope
And as our black ink ran all down my arms
You let that rope fall, I hit the ground seeing stars.

I was blind in that moment, thinking you'd come around
But you just laughed sickly from your place on high ground
And when I mapped us out on the back of my hands
I never thought to draw a rope, but I stood no chance.