the dust clears off the box full of hopeless memories
|
the master lock looks old and rusted
|
i should've burned this box along with all the others
|
forgetting you has been the hardest part and i'm not sure i wish to remember
|
at all.
|
|
like angels on the verge of suicide
|
i turn my head and shed a tear
|
and fall for what seems like a thousand miles
|
until i hit the cold cement floor beside your feet
|
|
dont pick me up because
|
my brittle bones cant withstand another touch from your hands
|
i'll get up on my own and i'll burn this box
|
the fire will look good glistening off the curves of your face
|
|
-----------------
|
Like Angels On The Verge Of Suicide
|
| In Pieces |
