Like clockwork, hands greet and pass.
Set apart, torn at the heart and eyes that leave pillows with a scent of salt.
It's dead text and missed phone calls, early mornings and late nights spent so dull.
The cogs, the gears, and all our fears are rusty with wicked words and tortured thoughts.
She runs up to your side, and tells another lie and says that everything will be alright.
