i don't want to be seen,
feel my touch on your cheek;
i don't want to be seen at all,
but the razors are sharp
and the curtains are drawn.
i don't want to be seen
lying down on the floor.
if you hold me, i'll break,
if you kiss me, i'll know;
but the panic runs through,
spinning out of control.
i don't want to be seen,
but my thoughts drown in ink
and the pages are torn.
i don't want to be seen,
feel my touch on your cheek;
i don't want to be seen at all.

do you remember the person
that you were
five years ago?
ten years ago?
do you think they were better
at living your life?
would they hold your hand now
or push you off the edge
of your endless agony,
that all-consuming sadness
that's eating away at your mind?
would they take a picture
or just walk by?
do you still wish to go back,
catch up with all the lost time
and make things right?
you're the only version of yourself
that's available
right here and right now,
and did you ever consider
that it's for the best?
maybe past belongs in the past,
maybe you're happier without it.
everything looks more appealing
through the lens
of nostalgia,
but if you remember the person
that you were
five, ten years ago,
do you still think they were better
at living your life?
or are you finally ready
to make it yours?

can't you see this house is empty?
can't you see i've given up?
can you fill this void
with something else
'cause i'm all out of love?
and the walls are crumbling down,
and the ceiling is on fire,
and the only reason we're still here
is because you'd rather lie
than admit that we're unhappy,
but i think it's time to stop.
can't you see this house is empty?
can't you see i've given up?

it's not my heart
inside your hands,
it's not the sky
that bleeds with rain.
it's not the tears
that fill a glass,
it's not the wine
that leaves a stain.
it's not my love
that lay so still
when you came home
the other day.
it's not the gaps
between the words
you didn't hear,
i couldn't say.
it's not the end
that makes it stop,
it's not the time
that takes the pain.
it's not the tears
that fill a glass,
it's not the wine
that leaves a stain.

my sea is overflown,
my sea is empty.
the shores are made of ash,
where memories disappear,
where dreams decay and die.
my sea is what i am,
my sea is what you made me.
while every loss feels fresh
inside my mind,
i open up my wrists to start a flood,
i bleed the rivers dry to fill a tub,
i write a conversation for us both;
you're still alive,
i'll soon become a ghost.
my sea is set ablaze,
i'm running out of time.
although my heart is yours,
the sea is mine.

when you knock on my door,
i will welcome you with open arms;
my long lost friend,
my dearest enemy,
my unwritten play in three acts.
my forgotten peace of mind,
the one i never learned to hate,
the one i'll always yearn for;
my oldest regret,
my most recent mistake.
when you knock on my door,
i will let you in, but won't let you stay;
the one i never asked for,
the one who always walks away.

you only seem to love me
when you're down.
an open wound can shape
the way you feel;
just like you never want me
when i'm here,
just like you always need me
when i'm not around.

but if you think i'll run to you,
you're wrong.
a heart that's broken once
needs time to heal;
you never say you're sorry
when i'm here,
you only seem to love me
when i'm gone.