In the hole, she could hear them Dead ringers and spirits There are strands of hair left pinned inside the locks And in the crevices, she scales, she writes Writes the name of debts
I can't love you like you want All these anchors aren't lifelines If it's not outside the realm disbelief
Stranded at the precipice Can you hear them grinding down? And with its powder, we will paint this wall
So calmly, she repeats to herself Six, four, two, threes "I can't help myself. I'm running out of time"
The fuel you douse me in, while the others look away Striking at the matchbox, he holds in his hands If there's one last hint Of high-control condolences chained to me
I can't love you like you want Your confessions are the root Of the vines obscuring all the ones you—
Crushed out of existence, they knew They wouldn't listen Others come and bend a knee At the bottom of the borrowed weeping wall
Can you hear her? Not plagiarizing symptoms Tell her the angels that you need never gave up on you Exposing all the wires cut She sinks it in the current's trap Teardrops in the voltage turn to me Turn to me and sing