I'm the real synner,
the first and the only.
Don't try to be the winner.
This competition can be lonely.
See - we can't honestly compete
if we accept that we all play in the same song.
As different instruments, we find a way to cheat
maybe even string along a few wrongs.
Overhere! Come listen!
I've found my own crucial beat that I dance my life through.
Though its always incomplete I've found it's not worth you.
Despite our real heat I'm not an object to screw
or a name on your sheet of women to pursue.
Gotta love that synful goodbye
and the crimson memories -
a duet serenading my mind
while my heart is the accessory
to the assult of your lie.
But here I am, possibly a little too late...
on a scale of one to ten, with ten being a catastrophe,
we soared at an averaged eight.
So now I applaud my stupidity
forever believing our rythyms could create
a unique dance only we could see.
I take a bow to your tune
as I wait for the other half of mine
to find me - it will be soon.
Until then, I admit yours was too fine
to ever allow this one to ruin.