And this is where I stay, in between the in between.
No more cold winter days.
No more sudden tragedies.
If you really
want to know me take away the human heart and stab it with
something not so sharp.
Twist like her finger in my hair she's got a
brand new white canvas on her
face for me to splatter with paint.
She's got nothing more than what was left running down her
throat.
The best of us was left in your sheets,
restoring things here in between defining what everything means to me.
The
truth's sometimes so hard to see, in my passive uncertainty,
it's a chorus with no melody.
She's got a brand new white canvas on her
face.
The best of us was left in your sheets.