It makes me ill,
How high you hold your will.
In the darkest age when I say I love you,
You always find something inside of me to screw.

It makes me feel so traumatised,
We rehearse our pain so dramatised.
Then when I leave the door open,
You whine with white wine saying you’re broken.

The tempest reaches an Everest,
In the blue sky sits the empress.
With her veins bruised in his stains,
The hail disintegrates her lover before the rain.

What is here and what is now,
We keep going backwards in time and space’s row.
And the flowers that you bring,
Wilt away in the late spring.

It makes me feel so traumatised,
We rehearse our pain so dramatised.
Then when I leave the door open,
You whine with white wine saying you’re...