Feels like I'm waiting for a funeral,
that rapturous tension choking the air.
Tastes like vodka, mixed with nitroglycerin,
sounds like horns, that echo in the deep.
Regain composure, with a shot glass filled with ice,
a little kiss to tell me that my heart is broken still.
My mind just won't sleep, just tosses and turns,
and tells me that I'm free, but I'd rather be in love.
Expect the unexpected, and burn whatever's left,
little twitches and winks, from witches in the night,
make me feel like Casanova, but I know that isn't right.
What's left for a man who loved to hate?
now that he's lost that love, now he hates to hate,
but hates with greater fervour.
A heart like mine is delicate, as a fist in a velvet glove,
softly breaking every bone that I need to stand.
Feels like I'm waiting for something to snap,
feels like I'm waiting for a funeral,
and this time it might be mine.