The 8th

With nothing but cold comfort, I lay and stare

Blood, from the heavens
This gaping wound has blinded me
Drown the thirst to eliminate past dreams
I'm quite a simple man
But yet you seem to disagree
It all still hurts
No matter if I don't scream

The cradle in the backroom
Of my mind
Still coincides, with the memory of your tortured life
And no it's not my business
No it's not of my concern
But I can't seem to help but dwell
Upon the thought of what I gave up
For better or worse
I will remain with my choice
No matter how much, it burns to hear your voice
And now I see, it isn't so easy
To replace even the smallest of things

But guess again, guess again 'cos you got it wrong
No matter what has been said you still don't belong
I hope you find your rightful place
Because I'm having some trouble keeping face

I would love to cut that smile from your pretty fucking face
If it was just for one thing, if I could just let go