I may not have the looks to kill
but give me time and blood will spill.
I may not know all that much
but I will melt you with the faintest touch.
I may not be the biggest you'll see
but I won't leave you in the morning in misery.

Sunday afternoon will arrive
and you will not survive.

Passing headlights on the motorway,
snaking their way to Neverland,
expectant of miracles. They see
what is ahead but forget to look back
to see just how far they've come.
There's no optimism, just pedantry.

Echoes will thunder
and you will be blown asunder.

Staring into space for the thousandth time
because you have nothing better to do.
I could say I told you so
but you'll prbably stop speaking to me
again, remember? Of course you do,
how could you forget? I saw you laughing
at the back of the room, ignorant
of whether I saw or not.

In time, hearts will be broken,
only because people let them open.

So, when I stand on top of the hill
and dream of when the blood will spill,
I'll think of you and what you've done,
the lies you told and what you've become.
I'll scream your name for all to hear.
A word, I cry, it begins with fear.

I only loved you yesterday
because I had nothing better to say.