Besedila: Bleeding Through. Portrait Of The Goddess. Turns Cold To The Touch.

the surface of a broken hand,
a credent hand with nothing left to hold.
face turns cold to the touch.
my face was white, laying on the cold tile floor, the floor.
when I entered your room last night,
your face left me as a coward.
now I'm left with nothing but your stare that's burning me.
I don't try because I'll fail.
I'm just left in line with the rest who admire.
the surface of a broken hand,
a credent hand with nothing left to hold.
face turns cold to the touch.
my face was white.
left alone in desolate dreams.
why can't I be beautiful, so you would want to save me.
but you're the angel with the perfect wings that I'll fucking break and take you with me.
take you with me.
those words left a stain.
I must make you see the ugliness.
you left your light on.
you turned my will again.
just look what you created.
a sick, frail man scared to look at his shadow.
I'm sorry that you're ea part of this,
but I can't be left alone tonight.
I can't be left alone tonight.