You've got a way,
With calming the storm,
Each and every day,
You make the most arctic warm.
It's the same old story,
It is far from making sense,
Who will find sleep for me,
When no one will come to my defense.
You're a broken record,
A cliche of manipulation,
So innocent with maleficent checkered,
A demon of my creation.
When what we loved we burned,
The fire raged so blue,
But from the ashes we yearn,
That we find your sleep too.
I'm supposed to let go,
Doing so would be obsolete,
'Cause if I do I know,
I'll forget that my heart beats.
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