One centimetre
Cold air, rough on my red cheeks
Blood on my hands, which I made myself bleed
If you saw me on the edge of death
Would you take away the words you said?
Like a crow in the night you were always complaining
Like a dandelion, at every angry blow I was self-erasing
You said if you didn't feel it then you wouldn't fake it
What would I have to do, to make you admit it?
If the headlines press the words on the paper
My name, black on white but red on your hands
On the bars of the prison in your mind, they linger
Would it remind you of the pain and your unreachable demands?
So if I hear the sirens and see the red and blue
The crows would fly away to keep on haunting you
In a hospital bed, that with my hurt I'd share
Would you show up then, would you then care?
And if the machine broke and my heart fell asleep
If the skies cried out, to cut you so deep
If the clouds’ tears fell on your hair again
Would you feel some sadness, would you miss me then?
If I lay quiet, on my bed of morphine
Listening to the lullabies of my wooden coffin
You would probably try to plead your case
But would you kneel on the grass, tears rolling down your face?
It doesn’t matter, because now I'm here, on the edge of my mind
Still balancing, where no one could find
If I slipped one centimetre more
Would it make you love me, like you did before?