at my table at my favorite coffee shop you want to ask for forgiveness
the truth is i cannot count on you.
because there are oceans not just between the yellow desert of your eyes and the graveyard brown of mine.
because i cannot afford to fly round-trip from the capital city of my heart to the beach-side airport of your lies.
because you are bad for me, because you make me suffer, and because i cannot find ways to hate you for it.
the truth is i should not count on you.
i know that you see me and sweet words spill out like:
i have missed you and let me hold your hand and how nice that you are still wearing that perfume your father gave to you the summer we feel in love -- the summer i fell in love with you and your eyes how lovely that they shine with the same light let me buy you a beer let me light that cigarrette let me take you home -- to our home -- if you still remember it -- and i know i have been bad and i know i have hurt you but you look so beautiful even and especially in this goddamn heat and i have missed you.
the truth is i have to count on you.
because you are the only cure for this sickness that grabs ahold of the air i breathe when i wake up without you.
because you are the only one i want despite of the convictions i have to inflict upon myself.
because you are the creator of my battle scars
and the only one who will hear me tell their stories
and the only one who will reach for my hand with one finger and electro-shock me with your life-long promises of love and affection and marriage and beer and dogs and kids and friends and wild sex and growing old old old together just like you've always said:
every day dies with you by my side.
but now where do i go, with this scorpion sitting where my heart used to be?
because there are oceans not just between the yellow desert of your eyes and the graveyard brown of mine.
because i cannot afford to fly round-trip from the capital city of my heart to the beach-side airport of your lies.
because you are bad for me, because you make me suffer, and because i cannot find ways to hate you for it.
the truth is i should not count on you.
i know that you see me and sweet words spill out like:
i have missed you and let me hold your hand and how nice that you are still wearing that perfume your father gave to you the summer we feel in love -- the summer i fell in love with you and your eyes how lovely that they shine with the same light let me buy you a beer let me light that cigarrette let me take you home -- to our home -- if you still remember it -- and i know i have been bad and i know i have hurt you but you look so beautiful even and especially in this goddamn heat and i have missed you.
the truth is i have to count on you.
because you are the only cure for this sickness that grabs ahold of the air i breathe when i wake up without you.
because you are the only one i want despite of the convictions i have to inflict upon myself.
because you are the creator of my battle scars
and the only one who will hear me tell their stories
and the only one who will reach for my hand with one finger and electro-shock me with your life-long promises of love and affection and marriage and beer and dogs and kids and friends and wild sex and growing old old old together just like you've always said:
every day dies with you by my side.
but now where do i go, with this scorpion sitting where my heart used to be?