These are the last words I'll write for you
The sugared dedications discontinue
Each word hatched from one mistake
Wanting you more than I can take
Intentions seem so futile now
Wipe remnants of love from your brow
Convinced you're white, so pure, intact
Lucky for me, I look good in black
So certain that you're making sense
As you speak of futures in past-tense
You claim the truth was always clear
Am I a victim of synaesthesia?
Human capsaicin eating heart tissue
A master of riddle and cryptical clues
But I've breached my Capulet attitude
These are the last words I'll write for you.