Songs I Write | VII

Sickle

See the sickle, its stunning state
Certainly it'll scare you straight
Mouth run dry, air made you choke
I'll tell you why I made this joke

Tired of all the wrong men
Hung up on the feeling
Nothing's going to work out
Nothing's worth believing
Though I do get a rush
From breaking down and hearts
I get the sense you don't like me
Wonder will you with the sickle in my clutch?

You said leaving me'd give you a breath of relief
But running from your feelings and avoiding bad dealings
Will only make you turn more tired than ever
So run out of breath and it'll catch up no better

The weight on your shoulders might lessen for moments
In a crowded room where you can escape atonement
And only make you turn more tired from endeavours
So run out of breath despite all your best efforts

Tired of all the wrong men
Hung up on the feeling
Nothing's going to work out
Nothing's worth the bleeding
Though I do get a rush
From breaking down and hearts
I get the sense you don't like me
Wonder will you with the sickle in my clutch?

I meant what I said about loving each other in, through the dark
I hate you for gluing me together then cutting me apart
Breaking my mother's heart is breaking mine twice
Mistaking you for a lover has been harrowing as it was nice

See the sickle, its stunning state
Certainly it'll scare you straight