Out Of Time

Unfurl your hands.
There’s blood on them, isn’t there?
I know that it’s mine.
That’s my pumping, beating heart you’ve got there,
And I’m running out of time.

Loosen your grip.
You’re trying to hold me here, aren’t you?
Yet you don’t want to be seen to be mine.
That’s my self-belief you’ve got clutched to you,
And I’m running out of time.

Let me fall from your fingers.
It was always the plan to keep me hanging on, wasn’t it?
Until you found something better, more refined.
That’s my self-worth, and you’ve...