Lovers will get drunk and flutter.
Then run dry, and scavenge.
Falling to the cold but I won't be one.
It seems to me that sweet sincerity, she's just a myth
these days.
Here's your anniversary.
Ten years down the drain.
Pull the curtains.
The plot's been given away.
The artful chase and eloquent dance,
just a futile sway between the eyes, the lips and the
soft breath.
It's a bullshit give and take, for what you will.
And then it becomes a reluctant mistake.
Here's your anniversary.
Ten years down the drain.
And everyone knows everything about being alone, but I
still don't.