i'm not poetic |
It hadn't hurt but baby
this had killed us...
I only whisper to the trees
In such an age of breaking measure...
It doesn't start with fire.
It starts with those fingers...
Am I that canker dwelling on the tip of your...
as you are mine...
Second guessing won't fill time
when every idea isn't right...
If I don't look your way
maybe I'll be less angry...
Your smile makes the angels pray |
The world is a nightmare |
Leave your intentions at the door |