"Does it really make it all go away?
Or does it simply make it all less current?
Are you hungry when you come my way?
For someone or something that could save you?
I'm what you need."
"Do you feel that I could never relate,
to the vinegar religion you praise?
So you prefer I hold you under your sheets,
and exchange English for some salt water speak?
You're something, really something to me.
Says the make-up smeared all over my face.
Then I touch you on your chest in a place,
that left shambles in the space where you laid,
I'm sorry, I'm what you need."
Elderly, I'm envious, how do you stay in Love?
I am young, forever young. Selfish so, I sleep alone.
I know you know, the devil in the detail.
I need to know, what keeps those feet in soil.
Morphine dreams are quite serene,
in fellowship with melancholy.
Bedroom door with lock involved,
ear to wood, waiting on me.
Lay blame on the Silhouette,
The loose sundress on Latin skin.
And pain made from paper mache,
then stuffed like hell with sweet release.
It's ten more notches on the clock,
'til reprieve receptionist takes break.
All that's left is me and this,
and you have been buckled in the backseat.
Gold intention, tarnished finish,
shimmers like self deprecation.
Your intention, pure perfection,
selfless love is salvation
(Dreamt of drowning, knew I needed,
you or someone; be my everything.
Woke up thirsty, knew I needed,
you for some time; you're my everything.)