And this is where I stay, in between the in between.
No more cold winter days.
No more sudden tragedies.
If you really want to know me take away the human heart and stab it with 
something not so sharp.
Twist like her finger in my hair she's got a brand new white canvas on her 
face for me to splatter with paint.
She's got nothing more than what was [bad word] down her throat.
The best of us was left in your sheets,
restoring things here in between defining what everything means to me.
The [bad word] s sometimes so hard to see, in my passive uncertainty,
it's a [bad word] with no melody.
She's got a brand new white canvas on her face.
The best of us was left in your sheets.