Sometimes I think about love
And its tender hands, how I wish
To hold them while the day
Is still young, feel its lingering
Stare strip every thought like a breath
Against flame, until I am no more than flesh
Standing in front of another,
Without fear of what may come
From my wounds
I often find myself
devouring every grain of hope
As I wait for this moment
To rush through the door
And let no more time go to waste
Though I am alone, I have my own hands to hold, to carry along in this life,
And I will do better as the night gets away to morning,
To caress where I have clashed,
To soothe where I have stabbed,
So the sweet love that I so desperately crave
Will be born of my blood
Sometimes I think about love
And its tender hands, how I wish
To hold them while the day
Is still young, feel its lingering
Stare strip every thought like a breath
Against flame, until I am no more than flesh
Standing in front of another,
Without fear of what may come
From my wounds
I often find myself
Devouring every grain of hope
As I wait for this moment
To rush through the door
And let no more time go to waste
Though I am alone, I have my own hands to hold, to carry along in this life,
And I will do better as the night gets away to morning,
To caress where I have clashed,
To soothe where I have stabbed,
So the sweet love that I so desperately crave
Will be born of my blood