At The Edge Of A Cliff

Lying, quietly, on the floor
Feeling the thorns like needles in the palms of my hands
Why do I need your roses?
Why do I need your precious letters of eternal love?
I will get there
Open air
Lying, quietly, on the floor
Feeling the thorns like needles in the palms of my hands
What do I need your roses for?
What do I need your letters for?
Just take me out of here and drive far away
I will get there
Open air
I never thought you could despise me
Everything's so clear, still I refuse to see
Now I'm with open arms at the edge of the cliff
Just waiting for the wind to fly away
Sitting quietly on the floor
Drawing symbols with the blood from my hands
What do I need your roses for?
What do I need your letters for?
Just take me out of here and drive far away
I will get there
Open air