Whatever you say, love.
Years and years later... we just sit merely inches from one another's bodies... whispering to each other's ears because we cannot hear over the music.
Whispering because it has been so long since I have heard the music.
What a cheap, conditional thrill... I should feel alive... but I couldn't feel my pulse.
Drive home alone, watch the rain alone, and wake up alone.
And every time I speak... it seems rehearsed- and yet so perfectly.
It is sort of like a coma... only you are perfectly conscious, completely aware.
And that is the way it goes.
That is the rhythm- opened, closed, accepted, denied.
But we are safe... we are safe.
It's all right... we all know at the end of the day I'm just overly dramatic, right?
Whispering because it has been so long since I have heard the music.
What a cheap, conditional thrill... I should feel alive... but I couldn't feel my pulse.
Drive home alone, watch the rain alone, and wake up alone.
And every time I speak... it seems rehearsed- and yet so perfectly.
It is sort of like a coma... only you are perfectly conscious, completely aware.
And that is the way it goes.
That is the rhythm- opened, closed, accepted, denied.
But we are safe... we are safe.
It's all right... we all know at the end of the day I'm just overly dramatic, right?