Through the curtains I see your
Silhouette right before
The curtains rise and nothing's said.
And the acid skins me,
And the salt it stings me,
Your face is turning different shades of red.
And in death I'll be your
Haunting memoir
Looking for a place to rest.
Like the ashes on the floor
We used to be so much more,
Solid saints of smoke and pleasure.

And I sound so relative,
Like I'm deciding.

And the bullets with my words,
In my head,
Are shooting you loudly.
And the knives that are my deeds,
I'm throwing them.
They're piercing your body.

Through your holes and slices
You see my simple devices,
The damage so far incomplete.
And now I'm trying
To keep you crying
Enough to fill this room and swim away.
Like the ashes on the floor,
We used to be so much more,
Solid saints of smoke and pleasure.

And I sound so relative,
Like I'm deciding.