I feel like a Matador taunting a bull,
Like I'm balancing with no net on a cable and
I'm scratching my way out of an Avalanche, and
Chalking my heart's whims up to happenstance
I've seen the Holy Saints in
Your image captured in paint and
It's flawless and life just ain't,
'Cause it's ripped and torn the day you're born
As the sky burns like a wick above,
We're in deep, in the thick of love
But I'm lovesick and you're sick of love,
So now our time's up, the cord gets cut
But now I feel like a Matador taunting a bull,
Like I'm balancing with no net on a cable and
I'm scratching my way out of an Avalanche, and
Chalking my heart's whims up to happenstance
With its desires like
Well stoked fires and
Thorny briars for you to tame
And it sang higher than
Young church choirs or
Piano wires that you could play
