I'm standing at the edge
of a forest fire
with a book full of matches
in the palm of my hand.
I just wanted to prove I could change the world,
but she'd never understand.
And while spinning around
with clouds in her eyes,
slowly crying my fire away;
it's only a match was
my reply,
but that's what I'd always say.
The world kept spinning
with the sun in its eyes,
blinded in so many kinds of ways.
[But more than tears
came from her skies,
so I know she'd be okay]
Spinning around,
pain on the ground-
pain that was caused by me.
The wounds I’ve found
would cure somehow,
but not so easily.
[The agony of her emotion
was caused by me,
and only me]
On the bad days,
she'd cry an ocean;
while on the good days,
she'd cry a sea.
But all I have here
are blistered hands
and the will to control more than me.
Something she'd never understand
but more like something she'd never see.
She was, indeed, the world to me.