moody sunday

There must be something wrong with me
‘Cause I kind of like the bruises
I gave it all and I could have given so much more
Tricking time, tricking memories, tricking stupors…
And I pretend you’re writing your name
Over aching limbs and long distances
Flooding me with the spaces between
Trials and errors, trials and errors…
And I pretend I can defeat
Long hours, needles and pills
And I just fall behind, no need to keep up
And I pretend I can breathe

There must be something wrong with me
I can’t trick I can’t defeat
I can’t connect I can’t breathe
I can’t pretend I can trust
I just remember you asked me to