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I'd like to believe in one thing that you say to me
Would you like to leave?
When I try to talk at all, it turns out to be
Turn on the stove in the little tiny roost
That our friend calls a home
My head fills with heat
From the knife in your hand to mine

I'd like to understand
What you think about
Why it seems so bad
It's only escape from everything
I know I'm weak
I know that I'm sad

Turn on the stove in the little tiny roost
That our friend calls a home
My head fills with heat
From the knife in your hand to my sand

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