If you bury yourself alive, I'll bury myself right beside you.
I'm well aware this could be the last chance to dig up old bones.
So dig deep.
I've got my heart on my wire; an empty cavity in my chest, with stale cigarette smoke lingering on my breath.
Shaking limbs carry me through wreckage and kerosene soaked floors as these nicotine stained fingertips reaching out to yours.
I was just hoping you'd come home with ticker tape parade in tow.
I'm tearing up my stomach lining; you brush me off like dandruff on your shoulder.
Maybe we're just tired; maybe we're just scared of growing old.
I engage in frequent staring contests with the bathroom mirror.
Sick to death of late nights spent lying on my back again, staring at the ceiling fan.
My teeth have been falling out in my sleep.
Their roots are growing wildly like vines of climbing ivy on cemetery gates.
This graveyard feels vacant and empty without you.
So lay down beside me in this casket built for two
And rest your tired bones with me.