She's a pink hand-grenade that offers its hand in my destruction.
An imprint in my mind aiding in my disruption.
A piece of eyes that has me feeling reluctant
While being a conductance mesmerizing me into suction onto the bed.
Shallow pools and deep rivers make up these heads
That buck together until they are eventually stuck.
Imploded on my sturdy foundation is a pretty pink hand-grenade.
Explosions going off yet I'm the one with blame?
Dance around the flames as books of matches are struck.
Watch Hell's fires rise higher while demons run amuck.
These confetti eggs pack quite a punch
In visions with your hands holding on with just luck.
Smile at the battle field while hiding behind the front
Lines that fold like envelopes sending me a message;
Turn back now and find peace in that direction.
