Send me back from whence come the tracks. Send my wife a flower and a knife. For the words have stopped coming and my legs began running. But the worst is the fact that this world is a trap. It was only a way to see if I would stay. Craft is a farce because love is so sparse, and art cannot compare to the worst love affair. God has to exist if we are born inside a kiss. But the truth is in my lap: this world is just a trap.
Lyrics submitted by mockorange13