Berenice
my hands my feet are worn
as much as yours are
and though my head my hands my heart are forming
they still feel worlds apart
Berenice
beneath it all youre golden
and thats all im feeding on
and though my head my hands are growing colder
we move in circles now

Berenice
theres no release at all thats not worth dying for
and its not for our desires but our design that we all fall apart