In from Hers by Loose Lid

Only you
Only me
Only everything
And nothing in between

Only death
Only skin
Only filthy beds
Tell flowers to begin

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Your rose is sick with the worm I am
I’m sick with the rose I snatched from her

Only you
Only me
Only everything you were
And what we’ll be

We can run
We can spin
We can live in a bubble
With needles and pins

Then suddenly a slit…

Your rose is sick with the worm I am
I’m sick with the rose I snatched from her
O…Deviants, come on…

You
Me
Only yours and mine
And hers for no one to see

It was there in the ground
‘Til we all felt the rapture
I smell the roses year ‘round
Sliding in the beds they were found

Your rose is sick with the worm I am
I’m sick with the rose I snatched from her
Roses sick with the worms I am…and everyone’s sick in the rapture

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