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Description
It's a cold day in the hell,
That lingers around my head
While I find myself impatient
Wanting, needing, in my bed
This constant craving for what
You can only give
Drives me across the edge
As I strive to simply live;

The candlelight casts itself
Amongst moth-eaten covers
Of angelic statues in prayer
Over silhouettes of lovers
The silence eats away
The fruit of my loving labor
The heart that throbs and yearns
For its promised, emotional savior

I've sat in this chair for hours,
In this sturdy wooden statue
Reminded of the times we spent
Along the corners of the avenue
While the beggars want their
Coins on the street,
I wish only for you
To fill me and engross me
In my loving defeat
And to prove my urges for you;

I write a letter
Scrawled in ink
As red as my bleeding heart
And then I try and fight the urge
To tear it apart
Because my fond words may not even
Suffice themselves as
Completely true
I wish I could write,
What's been plaguing me
Seal it with a kiss and say:
"I'm thinking fondly of you."

It's a cold day in the hell,
That lingers around my head
While I find myself impatient
Wanting, needing, in my bed
This constant craving for what
You can only give
Drives me across the edge
As I strive to simply live

Why don't you try and hold me
In these dark, cold catacombs
While I search for skeletons
Of my old self,
Yet only find your bones

And somewhere, somewhere
I'll fill your thoughts again
Yet now I can't even bare,
The word that's so simple,
"A friend."

I write a letter
Scrawled in ink
As red as my bleeding heart
And then I try and fight the urge
To tear it apart
Because my fond words may not even
Suffice themselves as
Completely true
I wish I could write,
What's been plaguing me
Seal it with a kiss and say:
"I'm thinking fondly of you."

Description
It's a cold day in the hell,
That lingers around my head
While I find myself impatient
Wanting, needing, in my bed
This constant craving for what
You can only give
Drives me across the edge
As I strive to simply live;

The candlelight casts itself
Amongst moth-eaten covers
Of angelic statues in prayer
Over silhouettes of lovers
The silence eats away
The fruit of my loving labor
The heart that throbs and yearns
For its promised, emotional savior

I've sat in this chair for hours,
In this sturdy wooden statue
Reminded of the times we spent
Along the corners of the avenue
While the beggars want their
Coins on the street,
I wish only for you
To fill me and engross me
In my loving defeat
And to prove my urges for you;

I write a letter
Scrawled in ink
As red as my bleeding heart
And then I try and fight the urge
To tear it apart
Because my fond words may not even
Suffice themselves as
Completely true
I wish I could write,
What's been plaguing me
Seal it with a kiss and say:
"I'm thinking fondly of you."

It's a cold day in the hell,
That lingers around my head
While I find myself impatient
Wanting, needing, in my bed
This constant craving for what
You can only give
Drives me across the edge
As I strive to simply live

Why don't you try and hold me
In these dark, cold catacombs
While I search for skeletons
Of my old self,
Yet only find your bones

And somewhere, somewhere
I'll fill your thoughts again
Yet now I can't even bare,
The word that's so simple,
"A friend."

I write a letter
Scrawled in ink
As red as my bleeding heart
And then I try and fight the urge
To tear it apart
Because my fond words may not even
Suffice themselves as
Completely true
I wish I could write,
What's been plaguing me
Seal it with a kiss and say:
"I'm thinking fondly of you."