On Saturdays, where are you? These nights, I'm so alone.
But if this keeps breaking, if I make another mistake and you fall down,
Then I'll fall too. I just want to be with you.
It's come to be that I'm your Icarus, and it's making me sick.
I can be your scream. I will be your protest.
I can be your word of the day, so you can use me often.
And when I smoke on the porch, you can't say a thing,
With a glass of Seibel in your hand, it's so unhealthy.
It can make you tired. Will you be my nicotine?
Broken bottles and empty hearts have assembled the last few weekends of my life.
Empty bottles and broken hearts disassemble everything you've meant to me.
Bruce said that he was on fire, so I'd guess that means that I'm drowning.
But in case you cared to know what I know, I know that you've been gone.
Be my coat in the pouring rain. You've been my kerosene, so start that flame.
And living through last Winter is all that I could do.
But last Sping never past, so if you fall, then I'll fall, too.
You taste like the taste of lips that I've had before.
But it's so hard because I don't know if I want more of this.
Your love is plastic, and we hate the scent of burning plastic.
-Yours always, Icarus
