You’re the cold side of the bed
Come monday morning
A quiet whose screams echo those same words
"I dont love you.
Anymore."
A putrid piece of magic.
Coated with the pungency of sin

And id dance with you
But these feet are like no other
Vilified and scarred and lefted
And lost beyond repair.

And i’d sing to you
With the shot voice upon which
David danced to
But i've left my voice behind
Traded for a moment of what i call justice and

I’d offer you a drink
But alas, all I bear are these
Battle scars
and foreign thoughts
And all these empty bottles