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