Severed, bowed, soul-deviled, and you'll find:
Don't think I've ever got it right.
Another threshold of pain, like every inch of my life
All this means nothing, through there:
Ours is to suffer
Wanted more than this world could hold
In the shadow of a beauty
That we could never, ever, hold.
Don't think I've ever got it right.
Another threshold of pain, like every inch of my life
All this means nothing, through there:
Ours is to suffer
Wanted more than this world could hold
In the shadow of a beauty
That we could never, ever, hold.