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If I could only posses a bit of your warmth |
|
But I never will |
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If you could only accept me as your last way out |
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But you never will |
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This house is desolate and sick; so sad and cold |
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It is mine |
|
I fall apart every time I think of yours |
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Such inviting walls |
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The eyes are bleeding |
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The core is burning up |
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Bursting into tears |
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Alone on the floor |
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Accustomed to emptiness |
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As the beauty to sadness |
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And her world is getting dark; too dark |
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This endless meaninglessness |
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Is enfolding our thoughts less |
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Than the pretence of happiness |
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And her world is getting frail |
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(Like) A falling glass in slow-motion |
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Broken |
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Shattering skies |
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Have exposed our deepest and worst lies |
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And now the constructor is lost in error |
