My fingers wrapped around her thorns, I bleed, but she is dying in my grasp.
Charcoal forts of tall clouds on the horizon, a star awaits the day.
I count the lines on your palm, and I found nothing but me holding you.
If by chance a heart gives, a living soul be saved again.
He'll fill the void in your heart or the emptiness I gave, and he will be the hands you'll hold when you're away.
You'll begin to have more time to give, losing yourself in hours of conversations, wishing he'd talk more.
Love will not be forced for it overflows, and you will bathe him in your kisses for each beat of your heart.