Somehow I made it through life with my heart still intact, all my baggage still packed, all my goals on track.
But now my goals are kind of tame, or did they go down the drain? Well there's no one else to blame but me
For I'd die to be the cigarette that lies in your lips, to be the guitar that caresses your hip, to be the strings that sigh as you slide your fingers over me.
And it's curious -- the more you desire, the farther you have to fall.
But still I'd rather have my heart broken by you than never broken at all.
Somehow I made it through life with my heart on my sleeve, easy to deceive, blissfully naive.
But now my innocence is lost and I'm glad to pay the cost because the dice were tossed by me.
And I'd die to be the cigarette that lies in your lips, to be the guitar that caresses your hip, to be the strings that gasp as you scrape your fingers over me.
And it's curious -- the more you desire, the farther you have to fall.
But still I'd rather have my heart broken by you than never broken at all.