Start with one.
We go to two.
Finish at ten,
Then we're dazed.
The rest is a blur,
Even with you.
The next morning,
Is a moment to hate.
The constant throb.
The missing memory.
The unfamiliar room.
What have we done?
Start with one.
We go to two.
Finish at ten,
Then we're dazed.
The rest is a blur,
Even with you.
The next morning,
Is a moment to hate.
The constant throb.
The missing memory.
The unfamiliar room.
What have we done?