Rope

Maybe they'll show up later, knocking down the door Burning out your name Even if they had a radar, they'd still drift right off course Wandering through the waves There's a whole lot of nothing wrong with a whole lot of love There's a whole lot of something wrong with us Made as we were catastrophic, artistry Secondhand scars, empathetic poetry You're still from shock scared to breathe Held it tighter than you would need You cut me down You cut me down Yet, there's still nothing left to see Maybe we'll show up later, in some awful history books Forgotten like the frame Even if you wrote a letter, rolled it tied it up It'd never be the same