Every day it's Friday night
I hold my body like a butcher knife
Smiling for the camera eyes closed
Doing anything you ask, I suppose
You tell me you would die to breathe me in
I know there's no excuse for oxygen
So I will make your bed my graveyard
Let the world run through my soft parts
And I live at this faultline
Between the edge of solitude and hope
I'm shaking in a sentimental trope
And though the stars apologize for night
I don't blame them, I've wanted to sometimes
I don't know what to tell you where I've been
My body is just a landscape for your sin
And all the days regret the city lights
I know it's just the fault of the faultline
Every week keeps slipping by
In this imitation paradise
The angels make me sorry when I err
From the way they want me everywhere
Can't you see I'm sinking further in
Wish you could reimburse my oxygen
I gave you everything and then some more
Left you with nothing to be looking for
Will I die at this faultline?
Between the edge of entropy and woe
I wanted everything so much it grows
Until I can't manage this appetite
I loved you so traumatically that I
Can barely lift the world you left for me
There's lots of ghosts I somehow still can see
Holding on to me for our dear life
All these bodies always touching mine
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
