It's not about the bad times. It's not about the good times. It's about all the times. The heartache and the pain. The kisses in the rain. There's so much for you to gain If you don't worry About your heart getting stained
Burning in a sweeter version of hell Your skin smolders, growing into a fire that I didn’t mean to start But suddenly I’m a pyromaniac that’s coaxing the flame I know I’m to blame And I know what they say But I want to get burned
With my moral compass leading south And your jaw pressed to my mouth This price seems so small to pay
All these years (and all those covered up, fears) Ah, babe.. the things I would do to keep myself separate.. to keep from being pulled in--
to all things, nonlife; from that which my spirit could not believe in.. to paths that felt to be diametrically opposed to a true north that I did not know, but could only feel Oh what have I done, my beautiful-- I have judged, and lost so much
in order to become so un-able to hold on to so little
Just how much of me would be left, had I let you in;
sans the memory of all that I have done in order to obtain it.
I'll face myself to cross out what I've become erase myself,
All energy comes from the same well every whim wrought whims not while sitting on a fiery throne or cast out onto frosted stone buy or sell It's drawn from the same well loss gain pleasure pain close your eyes what color is it?