We both know you're full of bad ideas,
and I'd fall for every one.
Because my life was a full glass
and when it turned upside down there wasn't half of anything left to pessimize.
And yet I find new drops every day.
Always had a knack for wringing myself out.
Some call it desperation.
I'm just thirsty...
enough to lick the sweat from your skin if you let me.
And you do.
But the salt is there, like the salt in my eyes
and it just shrivels us up in the end.
I just want some of that pure stuff.
The kind we used to share together,
and no-one else ever tasted.
The kind that had us brimming.
That seemed to flow forever.
Before the glass tipped,
and the hyenas sipped.
And this broken cup can't hold water.
Instead, it cut our mouths
and keep spilling.
Until I learn to gather the sands
and make fresh glass,
for fresh rain...