Oh I'm a twisted thing
Born of stone and overgrowth
Inkwells, and crooked feather pens
And you're paper thin
See-through, bound, and gilded
Oh a book, a thousand pages end to end

And I know that if I dogear any page
I'd tear it by mistake
If I fold or crease a single piece, I'd keep
From you

Oh, I'm assembly lines
Copy-paste machinery
A printing press, spitting out ink
And you're one of a kind
No chance of reproduction
Once in a lifetime
Then gone in a blink

If I add a single thing
The ink will bleed to every page
If my fingers stain and smear
There's no erasing my mistake
On you

There's some things you hold close
And things that you keep sacred
You cannot be both
What will I do with all your words if I stain them?
What will I make of all your dogeared, gilded pages?
Oh I'm afraid that if I write then I will break them

Oh, I'm a twisted thing
My feather's dipped in ink
Still hovering the chapter with my name
When you look at me
I know you left it empty
You don't wanna touch what you can't keep

And my hand is shaking
Ink is catching in my palm
As it trickles down my wrist
I wonder if it'd bleed at all on you