I need to be destroyed Rearrange the pieces of me If you find something worth salvaging You know the part about glue holding me together I've been writing a lot of songs for myself And I can't be sorry for that I needed them They have always told me my songs are sad And I can't be sorry for that I needed them If my heart loses control of the pen Then I won't ever write a song again This one is to tell you how much it means That you have not abandoned me Even when your skin is so uncomfortable That you wish you could remove it I just played all the sad songs to a mostly empty room I'm sitting on a throne of doubt, and what makes sense is: you What makes sense is: you Like the last note of a ballad in an empty hall Your voice hangs in the malleable air as my pulse begins to slow Check my pupils, in the low light, cradling my skull My soul and body are concussed and you're the only cure I know There is adhesive on every wall, but we are making ourselves a home I need to be destroyed