Where are you? You are not here.
I still feel dirty though I've been washed by my tears.
I'm tired of running.
I'm tired of pushing through.
I'm just tired.

But you, you move me.
You move me more than I could myself.
You, you know me.
You know me better than I know myself.

Tear out my heart, and make it your place.
I'm dying for some grace, won't you tear out my heart.

It seems I'm relearning everything.
I don't know what to do or what to undo.
It's a cynical, cynical world they say,
that I'm tired of fitting into.

But you, you throw me.
So who am I to ask what I will.
You, you hold me.
Ten second wonders aren't supposed to be my fill.