trigger;

You might have pulled the trigger
                          but we both have blood on our hands
We’re fighting for something fragile
the baited whisper of heated air on ice glass smooth skin

Too late, don’t stop
It’s not trouble in paradise
                         But trouble in the corporeal life

Took me, ripped me in two hundred and six different ways
it was nothing but a big distraction from the fast life

strung the pieces from the floor of the cathedral
it was all up in arms and I couldn’t bring it up
                          only after I took you with me

You might have pulled the Trigger
                          but we both have blood on our hands
the pope is bleeding out on the floor
and you’re throwing the sins in the air

All that’s good must come down
There are only two sure things in this world
                         life and

Eh. Inspiration hits sometimes