take a look at my body.
look at my hands.
there’s so much here that i don’t understand.
take a look at my body.
look at my hands.
there's so much here that i don't understand.
your face-saving promises.
whispered like prayers.
i don't need them.
because i've been treated so wrong.
i've been treated so long.
as if i'm becoming untouchable.
well, content loves the silence.
it thrives in the dark.
with fine winding tendrils.
that strangle the heart.
they say that promises sweeten the blow.
but i don't need them, no.
i don't need them.
i've been treated so wrong.
i've been treated so long.
as if I'm becoming untouchable.
i'm the slow dying flower.
in the frost killing hour.
sweet turning sour anduntouchable.
oh, i need the darkness.
the sweetness.
the sadness.
the weakness.
oh, i need this.