I've been bleeding well from this old wound,
Cleaning it with salt, so it will still feel new.
Sometimes eyes turn black, and sometimes scars are tracks.
But everytime you're gone,
I wish that you'd come back.
And everyone watched me waste myself,
and everyone cheered at last.
And all of them found it comforting.
It's better it's me, than them.
I think I'm doing well from what they say,
They've taken both my belts
And shoelaces away.
But I believe in luck...
I think I do.
Well I believe for sure,
If ever I see you.
I've been fanning flames from these old coals.
Feeding them with tender, and hoping they will grow.
And I've been savoring what I can't hold.
A blind belief in goodness
That doesn't seem to show.
And I've been bleeding well from this old wound.
Cleaning it with salt, so it will still feel new.
