| Fed by hand and caught with force
 | 
| Our bed, sweet death will foreclose on everybody’s tongues
 | 
| She’ll freeze and break your heart
 | 
| My love who’s left to console the choir
 | 
| I don’t want to be the one
 | 
| I don’t want to be the anchor on your chest, unkept
 | 
| Have you ever been asleep?
 | 
| I was only keeping up to see you weep, unfold
 | 
| Inside the catacomb, the marble’s colder than ice
 | 
| Our match is damp, lit with a separate hand
 | 
| I see into your world, you make no effort to hide
 | 
| The tourniquet, candles in a salt ring will dance
 | 
| You don’t have to repent tonight at all
 | 
| Tongues will freeze and break apart
 | 
| My god who’s left to concede the cross
 | 
| I don’t want to be the one
 | 
| I don’t want to see the moment you forget, unfed
 | 
| In the sharpening of teeth
 | 
| You will have to feel the grit of the concrete vibrate
 | 
| Beneath your fingernails, they’ll find small pieces of stone
 | 
| You’ll face the sun, cut with the pressure point
 | 
| Inside the catacomb, the marble’s colder than ice
 | 
| Our match is damp, lit with a separate hand
 | 
| I see into your world, you make no effort to hide
 | 
| The tourniquet, candles in a salt ring will dance
 | 
| You don’t have to repent tonight
 | 
| Stargaze in the moonlight, we’ll burn
 | 
| You don’t have to defend the light at all
 | 
| My love who’s left to cross
 | 
| Inside the passageway
 | 
| My god who’s left to hold
 | 
| Inside your precious stare |