It's 3.45 am and she's still up.
Trying to breathe.

An hour later, the dawn arrives.
Why did he leave?

Blonde hair, and red nails.
Dirty work for the one who prevails.

His sleeves are stained red,
Black eyes joining the dead

Scars to prove he's alive

No words are told
Have they grown too old?

Can't they remember why?
They're living the perfect lie

It's 3.45 and they're still up.
Trying to breathe.