Bad Books Petite Mort
Petit Mort, i asked you for an answer
Petit Mort, i sang until you slept
Petit Mort, you took yourself, you bastard
Petit Mort, now sleeping's all that's left
you took apart the sympathetic angle
when you catered to the bitterness inside
aligned yourself with depths I couldn't handle
a million daily deaths before you die
gathered a bouquet
roses and posies
and straightened my tie
when I got there, you were nowhere i could find
through layer after layer of subconscious
i hunted for a reason in the woods
i tore apart the map and started backwards
i couldn't picture living there for good
i left you there to finish setting fires
i left you there to propagate your lie
i left you there cos honey, I was tired
i left you but that doesn't make it right
i remember your bedroom
ivy and clover
you kept me alive
knives drawn, the butcher world waited outside
Petit Mort, i asked you for an answer
Petit Mort, i sang until you slept
Petit Mort, you took yourself, you bastard
Petit Mort, now sleeping's all that's left
