Paper and Ink

Oh I’m a twisted thing Born of stone and overgrowth Inkwells, and crooked feather pens And you’re paper thin See-through, bound, and gilded Oh a book, a thousand pages end to end And I know that if I dogear any page I’d tear it by mistake If I fold or crease a single piece, I’d keep From you Oh, I’m assembly lines Copy-paste machinery A printing press, spitting out ink And you’re one of a kind No chance of reproduction Once in a lifetime Then gone in a blink If I add a single thing The ink will bleed to every page If my fingers stain and smear There’s no erasing my mistake On you There’s some things you hold close And things that you keep sacred You cannot be both What will I do with all your words if I stain them? What will I make of all your dogeared, gilded pages? Oh I’m afraid that if I write then I will break them Oh, I’m a twisted thing My feather’s dipped in ink Still hovering the chapter with my name When you look at me I know you left it empty You don’t wanna touch what you can’t keep And my hand is shaking Ink is catching in my palm As it trickles down my wrist I wonder if it’d bleed at all on you