Hair is scribbled on the pillows where I'm watching her sleep
As I ponder if I'm on the wrong side of a dream
Illustrated from a page of god's favorite sketches
But I guess that he suggested she edit me from the scene
She's been depicted in complimentary colors designed to distract the viewer from her black and white demeanor
Complete with a dash of burgundy to symbolize heart,
Which I'm starting to notice ain't exactly her brightest feature
I feel connected with the negative space
That's been respectfully shaded to signify a human life
I called it love and she called it suicide
Cause if we're gonna do it
Then we better do it right
I've never met him, but I question his selection of position
As the missing jigsaw that doesn't fit
This picture needs a frame
And I needs a pane of glass
That can separate the subject
From the days that they missed

Our little microcosm might have blossomed into something better
But I doubt we'll ever know, no, we'll never know