I know you live in the world   I know you do what you can   but the way you turn tight corners   seems to shorten my lifespan      it’s not the weather I love   it’s just the shape of the sky   but you shrink it to a keyhole   everytime you wander by   and I can barely miss   the package in your hands which is   my heart      you pack the powder so tight   you wrap it up in some foil   now it’s not so much the rebound   as it is the sharp recoil   I’ve come to fear from this   undetonated bomb which is   my heart (which is my heart)   which is breaking again      I don’t want to tell you what to do   I just wish you’d do it once without me asking you   I don’t want to tell you how to act   I just wish the story that you told me hadn’t lacked   the proper emphasis   on what I’ve got in mind which is   my heart (which is my heart)   which is breaking again