I tear a page from the book of faces,
throw your letters in an open fire.
I couldn’t say that I still despise you,
but I’m finding it hard to not to.
After all that was said not done
it’s time this thing was over.
Did I want you to change your mind?
Well, I don’t honestly think so.
Picking me up like a lovesick puppet,
you were dancing me over a burning flame.
You kept pulling the strings,
the few strands remaining.
You just wouldn’t let me go.
Running out of words,
running out of lines,
running out of things to say.
We were running out of heart,
running out of love,
running out of reasons to stay.
There was something so deeply flawed.
In the beginning we tried to deny it.
Just like a crack in a china doll,
a masquerade in silence,
where we try to recognize just who
exactly we’re trying to hide.
We played our roles in this grand design,
fooled ourselves in our own disguises.
Running out of pills,
running out of smoke,
running out of fine white wines.
We were running out of road,
running out of fuel,
running out of places to hide.
It’s a feast of consequences.
Facing up to a feast of consequences,
bearing down on a feast of consequences.
It looks like we’re dining alone.
Table for one for a word drunk poet,
losing my mind in a dancing flame,
it kept pulling the strings,
the few strands remaining.
It just wouldn’t let me go.
Running out of World,
running out of hope,
running out of resources.
We were running out of time,
running out of space,
running out of tomorrows.
If we only knew then
just what we know now
would we have changed our minds?
Would we have changed our minds?
Running out of time,
running out of time,
running out of time.
It’s a feast of consequences,
it’s a feast of consequences,
it’s a feast of consequences.
Looks, like I’m dining alone...