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Hellbent

de Portair

Tiny little specks among the grass
With the blades against our backs
We were absolutely made of glass
Something beautiful that I let crack
I wanted those three words but all you had

Was you’re too late
You’re too late
I can’t make you want what you don’t
When you say
That you’re too late

Fault lines trace the hollow place
Where you’d lay in my embrace
Your star dims in heights too great
Something beautiful that takes me into space
So far away from what I heard you say

Was you’re too late
You’re too late
I can’t make you want what you don’t
When you say
That you’re too late

But I saw this picture different
And now I see it from a distance
I took the frame away
Now it floats in disarray

You’re too late
You’re too late
I can’t make you want what you don’t
When you say
That you’re too late

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