Can we make amends? Do we have to drag it out? Will it break or bend? What is there to talk about? We're rotten to the thought Beholden to the core Collapsing to the touch Wanting, wanting Wanting more So the story plays Through a series of pretence And I'm waiting for the page To reveal its twisted end It's rotten to the spine Beholden to the core Frozen in time Haunted, haunted Wanting, wanting Wanting more