The way you talk is like the morning silence The way I walk is on a tightrope made of spider silk None of them will remember your name years from now but I will And I used my whitest black To paint you a portrait of me But I didn't know you well enough To know what I should be
About a chance I had that I took And there was so much potential So I decided to risk it But I got hurt Because I didn't know what to be To be perfect