Tell me a lie,
I'll be the first to fall.
Give me an offer unofferable.

Imagine the warmth,
in those tiny hands,
that held onto a penance,
I didn't deserve.

Don't it feel like a knife,
in the back of your head?
And it reeks like an afterthought rotten and said.
Maybe something got lost or forgotten instead.

Oh, and I'm bound by a trunk,
with a few memories,
of how you burn through your lovers,
it's like an ugly disease.

Give me an offer unofferable.
That held onto a penance,
I didn't deserve.
And it reeks like an afterthought rotten instead,
and maybe something got lost or forgotten and said.