The TV's flickering in the corner of the dingy, broken down room. I can't help but to feel like it's getting smaller (the godforsaken walls are closing in faster) now that you have left me to become my own island. Now you're my hurricane, so rock it harder, baby.
I can feel your aftershocks sinking up my spine.
You're bitter and you're salty. You scream of negligence. Tell me, where'd you come from, dear, because to curl your smokey self like that, you have to have been born a miracle.
Close my eyes and jump. Tell me, do you believe in miracles?
(You nod your head yes as I whirl into an abyss and drizzle)
Sleep me stillness into the eye of your storm because of my wounds. I can float. I can drown. It's all up to you.
The news is flickerin' in the dark corner of this dingy room, where I bob through your sea like the tiny island that I am.
