I tell you I want to love you,
but God, my hands are still gunshots
and you’ve been nursing
bullet wounds for far too long
and not all of them came from me.
They say the band went down
with the Titanic and
I want to know if you will still be here
when the water starts rising.

The skeletons in my closet
are dancing at night. They are dancing
with your skeletons.

I tell you I want to love you,
but your kisses taste like war,
like you’re fighting to keep me.
I loop my hands around your wrists
so gently you ask me what
these bonds are made of and I tell you,
“Hope. Prayers. Dirt after
it rains.” And it’s always raining.

I tell you I want to love you,
but God, it’s always
raining.

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I tell you I want to love you,
but God, my hands are still gunshots
and you’ve been nursing
bullet wounds for far too long
and not all of them came from me.
They say the band went down
with the Titanic and
I want to know if you will still be here
when the water starts rising.

The skeletons in my closet
are dancing at night. They are dancing
with your skeletons.

I tell you I want to love you,
but your kisses taste like war,
like you’re fighting to keep me.
I loop my hands around your wrists
so gently you ask me what
these bonds are made of and I tell you,
“Hope. Prayers. Dirt after
it rains.” And it’s always raining.

I tell you I want to love you,
but God, it’s always
raining.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

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