Constantly having to pull myself up
so i'll tie a string to this ceiling...

I can't help but stand on the edge
of our life's tonight...

I'll take a peak into the funeral home,
crouching on knees, at the basement window...

It seems every time,
this tool of paper and pen...

If i dressed you in her clothes,
tied your hair in ribbons...

Your a lingering comfort, i know you will be...
to take me in, taste lips of sin...

Why try so desperately
to cling onto the embodiment of sorrow...

Just waiting for my petal to fall,
land in the palm of your hands...

Secrets leak in curiosity,
filling a soul, inhabited not...

I'm sure i caught her in a vulnerable state,
salty red cheeks staining her face...