Can we make amends?
Do we have to drag it out?
Will it break or bend?
What is there to talk about?
We're rotten to the thought
Beholden to the core
Collapsing to the touch
Wanting, wanting
Wanting more
So the story plays
Through a series of pretence
And I'm waiting for the page
To reveal its twisted end
It's rotten to the spine
Beholden to the core
Frozen in time
Haunted, haunted
Wanting, wanting
Wanting more