A city of clovers
And I remain unlucky
Stuck within a quilt of dust and plaster
I am the walking zombie
Nobody listens as I loudly clamor
Nobody hears me; through these words I stammer

The slur in my speech
Is the remnant of this air that I breathe
For I get drunk off of this atmosphere
I get high off the subtlety
Which with every word is thrown at me

Give me your word
That you’re better than this
Tell me the truth
For I’ve had my share of the “final kiss”
I am no angel; can’t be a perfect bride
As I am no wench, and I swallow my pride

Walking in a city of romance
I’m the three leaf laid next to a four
As I suffocate in a world of dirt
I’m cast away into a society of one
Here I hush my words to I silent whisper
I do not speak, I hardly breathe

Cut out your tongue
You’ve no pride left to swallow
Silence these lies
And taste the sensation of a final kiss
While by the truth and these laws, I’ll surely abide
So thorns in my hand, I swallow my pride