A rising tide spent drowning in days lost to one heart's final lament.
Thrown off like grins known only to the dead.
Plastered behind scarlet eyes - Scarlet eyes!
Plastered behind scarlet eyes, stinking of tomorrow.
I say that once a letter is written. it's not so easily sent.
Like trying to find 2 of 3, but settling for one of me instead.

It's a hard faith to follow: the constant give without the take;
after the scraping through it's one less heart to break.
A head above water for the eyes held under a lasting plea for the lost mind torn asunder
Nothing but fair trades and farewells,
when the present tense reveals a sixth sense,
when you'd die for a word or one less empty shell.