A wish to kiss away bad,
A promise to be in sad,
A sanctum, I had,
A pocket empty, color of burgundy, 
Full of fiddling of giggles,
Blowing a gush of riddles,
A wind of rust,
A rush of whistles.

Is this how it's suppose to end?
Kiths and knits to blend,
All gone in a gust of wind,
A rush of whistling sins.

A wish to bade a bye,
A promise to say the sigh,
A sanctum, I thought I had,
Your pocket of burgundy scabs.
Full of empty glads,
Pouring sweet, red memories,
I wish it wouldn't have seen,
The rush of whistling sins.

So, is this how it's suppose to end?
A mend away from sanctuary,
All drowned so hastily,
Whirling away from honey.

A wish to melt away,
A promise to keep the way,
A sanctum, I had,
Never thought to fall the bad,
Cause I lost the tab on the sap,
A pocket of full of burgundy,
Once, you said, I could be, Free,
Once you said, I didn't have to see, the hole within me.

This heart is frail,
Doesn't see your trail,
And so it blends to blends,
Is this how it's suppose to end?

Nothing else do I see,
That could make you and me love me,
This is all there has to be,
A pocket empty, colored burgundy, 
Full of fiddling swiggles,
Blowing a gush of many riddles,
A rush of whistles calling sins and me.