Oh, we could blame it on our hands
They lifted the drink to our mouths so we drank it
Or we could blame it on our bodies
They say, we like the way we feel when we get touched
You've got your fingers snared in my veins
I think it's time you pulled them out
And I don't care about the flesh it'll tear
It isn't flesh that I'm worried about
We held a match to keep our sight on the path
But the flame gave up and we lost it
And I've knelt for the last three years
Trying to find it back with the blackened matchstick
Today I'm not afraid of failure
The past is a flower
The future, the snow
I wasn't ever close to perfect
But I never let