My mind is polluted
My thoughts, convoluted
Overwhelmed by your desires.
If you really wanna burn your bridges
Then you're gonna have to start some fires.

I've got plenty of room
For many more scars
That I may or may not regret,
But I lack space
For memories
And consequently, forget.

If clocks decide to leave minutes behind
And begin counting sins,
Would the hands move any slower?
Would you find heaven within?