Cuts and bruises adorn me.
Your touch sets a fire on my skin, I'm scorching; burning alive.
How do I live knowing your not who you once set aside.
My breaths grow smaller as my wounds they get deeper.
My lips are glued and my knees they're weak for you.
Even through hurt I still find some way to love you.
I'm not ashamed to say that I'm weak, that your touch slowly kills me.
I'm ashamed knowing that's how I'll die, by your love and you by my side.
I'm ashamed for not shutting you down.
So tell me my love, when is it that I die?