Lately my hands, they run free
When left unattended
Burning things I can't see
To spite my intentions
Even if I'm watching close enough
I'm too callow to call their bluff
What are my hands without me?
Just ten matches still hungry for heat
Hope turns cold if you let
So I'll just make pain poetic
Breathe when I salute the light
And I let the dark in
Now I'm repeating it all in my head
This cycle of vanity; we could have been
A chorus of colors and shapes, but instead
A shattered kaleidoscope, shards in my chest
And all of these
Shallow apologies
Are synth-soaked and six-eight
And I know, they're too late
But still
There go my hands, running free
And left unattended
Burning things out of reach
To hide my intentions
And I think it's time we started blaming me
I pretended that I lacked the agency
But now it seems facing the music
Is better than writing the song