Blood drips from the stars
while lungs inhale the melancholy
as simply as breathing in
the lies we believe in every night.

It's puddling about the night sky,
patching the holes where our
wishes burned too bright,
where our hopes were pulverized.

The taste of tin fills my tongue
as sweet as your love,
I'm swallowing the blood of
every love that's ever died

and I'm drowning further and further,
because no matter how many
times I’ve wished,
love will always die.