Lyrics

Melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at purple walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
That
I greet it like an old
friend.

The mourning is
about it never being
the way I needed
it to be.

Some nights, it is a switchblade
digging deeper into my wounds —
other nights, it is an act of kindness.

My life itself a
disturbance of mourning.

It is gone
forever.
And I am.

Melancholia my being
Melancholia inside me
Melancholia around and always

Some nights, my lips refuse to read aloud
the epitaphs carved in my headboard.
other nights, i recite them like poems
worth laying at a forest's doorstep.

this sorrow has grown roots
in the gaps where all my flesh and bones used to rest

There are still traces
of you in the house, in drawers —
air holding your breath.

Melancholia my being
Melancholia inside me
Melancholia around and always

The illusions lay before us on land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful
Neither joy, nor love,
Nor peace, nor help for pain;
Scattered the violet and blue light
Away from our eyesight
In this lonely city,
Where struggle and tenderness collide,
Swept with complex evening clouds.

Dark nights, all alone
And the only reminder
Footprints in the snow

Your absence sits on my skin
As layers and layers
Of melancholia
Feeding off
My flesh and bones
Until I am no more
But melancholia.