I guess you'd rather have a star than the moon; for your romance, I'd beg, steal and borrow.
It's draining me hollow, you slow dance me out of my sorrow.
The thoughts in my head, the places I touch when lying in bed, the visions of you, the words that you said, my heartbeat buried in the ground, and to the strings I bind, you're bound so when you sleep, you'll hear the sound.