Stay, my dear,
and keep your quiet sins within me;
I'll drown them out,
make your lovers teem with envy
in their sleep,
so they don't see
that I'm married to your memory,
not the man who proves his worth
between the sheets.

I caught you falling,
but you sprawled yourself away
into a sea of ether slipping
in between the tales
of what we thought would be.
Remember barefoot summers
glazed with strawberry flavored dreams?
That's the you I say good morning to
when I can't find another make-believe.

We touch our lips in a gesture of compliance
before you leave for an affair,
but you'll deny it—
I don't care.
I've got my own ways of joining the unfaithful,
although my hips have never strayed
they are quite hateful of my vice;
adulterous thought about absconding like my virtue
will suffice.

Stay, my dear,
and keep your quiet sins within me;
I'll drown them out,
make your lovers teem with envy
because I can.
We could dissolve,
become our own respective failures,
but what's the point when we're already
taking turn at being mad?

You're just distracted,
I tell myself when you come home
in stormy silence
and we sleep in the same bed
but I'm alone.
It's just a subtle sort of uncommunication,
locked away inside our own interpretation
of a life.

Stay my dear,
and keep your quiet sins within me;
I'll drown them out,
make your lovers teem with envy
like I do.