maybe he will push me
or blush me
or sweep me
under the rug

yet, from the attic above
i was an echo, a thud
my body just now a weight
but no longer, i could

why does it bother you
that i can hear your thoughts so loud
like you're still in the room
you hate that i can read you
like a book i've read over and over
because the truth is i have
over and over again
thousands of little times
i watched every thought
pass through your brain
i've counted your heartbeats
i thought about what it would mean
to ever hear it stop
it was enough to make my heart dance
and it danced with a fear of not having
your heart to dance with
many times, i closed my eyes
and i imagined our final moments
my three remaining hairs were grey
you had none
but we made it to old
and i made peace with the fear of dying
because we were enough to carry us over
and wherever we were going
it didn't matter
you held my hand
and you told me "forever"
and i would have been ready.

i can see around us that
the city building rooftops fake heartbreak into our heads
and the lights are just like visions
as we think silently about who we’ve both had in our beds

in a city that’s full of people
on a ordinary winters night
tell me why does it want you to find me
a coincidence, right?

we were once the dust of you arriving in a taxi
that we'd spun into gold
and here we are sat on a bench feeling something weird
when we thought we’d finally gone cold

your eyes were saying what your lips could not
and above where we sat
every single memory of us projected through the skies
while i hide every real thought under my hat

you couldn't break away
entering the subway to bury us underground
i'll shout only something real
regardless of the crowd

so i guess i will divide us only the numbers
that exist purely in your mind
and you can subtract me in the morning
as we begin to viciously unwind

I have been raided
time and time again
by much weaker men
that stole the best bits of me
to sell them to a market
full of all of their future lovers
and they take my prized knowledge
while they pawn the weight of my words
they sell every spell I wrote
to somebody like it’s their own
they will win over others
using the material of which I am made
and they do it all
as they rip out the pieces
of my brilliant heart

but what they have forgotten
is that what they’ve stolen
will not last them forever
and when they run out
I will still be here
making gold
out of absolutely nothing

you can pass around the blame
like it's a game of pass the parcel
you can say it's a hard days work
just to feed the family
because they'd have died of famine
if you weren't telling them all lies

are we both now someone else
living out some other life?
are we just strangers in the wind
just being happy out of spite?