I sit in the room and think of the girl, always thinking, always on top of the world.
I sit by the window, I sit on the floor, Trying to ignore the draft from the door.
I sit with the girl and talk about life, talk about romance on the edge of a knife.
I sit in the flames that pour from my heart, firey flames when we are apart.
I sit in the world and think of the girl, twisting my hair until it ends up in curls.