Bet a lesson like her, with cinnamon scars and honey-eyed hopes,
hurt so sweet that you longed to tumble again down sugary slopes.

You love so much that it burns.

Knew the principal play wasn't a ball in your court.
Built a castle for her. She raised the walls and made it a fort.

You love so much that it burns.
You love so much that it burns.

He is building up a tolerance... (x8)

...to everything he ever knew,
and it's a long, lonely, dangerous view.
And it's all right to cry,
'cause I'm the only one here who questions why