Come to my arms in teenage rebellion/ You look to the past, the past is a felon/ And you always wanted a dangerous love/ Filled prescriptions; your kick back; hell on/ Earth and you play your part well; on & on.

Does it matter? Does what matter? I don't know so well anymore. I don't know what to say to her on the phone. Love is not pragmatic, I must remember.

"You fill my cup/ When I give up"/ What shit comes from my lips!// I've never been/ With lovers in/ Souls embracing like hips// So how can I/ Sing out with my/ Theory without practice?// I just can't be/ More than I see/ There's no spring to my matress

Please, girl, take my hands/ Don't want to feel like/ A sigh and a cry/ 2 hearts to a knife/ See, girl, in my plans/ You're drums, I'm on mic/ We try and we try/ With our passion and might/ But all I can write/ Are these hollow love songs/ One day I hope to fill my lungs/ With heavy breath/ With heavy wind/ That comes not without/ But from within.

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