---

London,
Seven in the morning on a Saturday,
And I just missed my train.

Worship,
of the kind of goddess that I sacrifice,
will reap hard on me.

I've got an itch,
You've got an emptiness,
I couldn't fill,
false gods and tenderness.

Into your will,
pray on the falling,
straps from your shoulders,
how do I hold you?

Make me a monster, make me a beast,
Prey on my weakness become my disease.

I've been lovesick and empty,
Cold and i'm trembling,
Still holding out for my fairytale ending

Fightmare
Falling as the bottom, reaches up for me.
Wake up on the ground

Reject every lesson anybody has to say,
'Cause i won't be saved now.

I've got an itch.
You've got an emptiness.
I couldnt fill,
false gods and tenderness.

Into your will
Pray on the falling,
Straps from your shoulders
How do I hold you?

Make me a monster, make me a beast,
Prey on my weakness become my disease

I've been lovesick and empty,
Cold and i'm trembling,
Still holding out for my fairytale ending.

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