The way you dance just makes me want to cry—
it looks so fucking painful
but as of late my eyes have been so dry
I don't think I'd be able
to see your side or
be your light
my apathy has made me much too high. . . .

But don't you know? It turns me on:
watching you lose focus
'cause you're not hear to say it's wrong
or see how you awoke this
you're not at fault
not at all
just let me go and sing you one last song. . . .

The way you smile makes me want to scream:
can you be so pretentious?
Just let your sorrow take it out of stream
you're just so fucking precious
it's just a dream and
it doesn't mean that
everything that is will cease to be

How do you think it makes me cringe
to see faith kneel to blindness
so stain your sheets with charcoal tinge
lie dead as though you're spineless
it's not your fault
not at all
but I'm painting it in blood upon my wall