Every day it's Friday night
I hold my body like a butcher knife
Smiling for the camera eyes closed
Doing anything you ask, I suppose
You tell me you would die to breathe me in
I know there's no excuse for oxygen

So I will make your bed my graveyard

But the world went through my soft parts



And I live at this faultline

Between the edge of solitude and hope

I'm shaking at the sentimental trope

And though the stars apologize for night

I don't blame them, I've wanted to sometimes

I don't know what to tell you where I've been

My body is just a landscape for your sin

And all the days regret the city lights

I know it's just the fault of the faultline



Every week keeps slipping by

In this imitation paradise

The angels make me sorry when I err

From the way they want me everywhere

Can't you see I'm sinking through the rear end

Wish you could reimburse my oxygen

I gave you everything and then some more

Left you with nothing to be looking for



Will I die at this faultline?

Between the edge of entropy and woe

I wanted everything so much it grows

Until I can't manage this appetite

I left you so traumatically that I

Can barely lift the world you left for me

There's lots of ghosts I somehow still can see

Holding on to me for our dear life

All these bodies always touching mine