Desperation, on me, tastes like bile on the back of the tongue,
Constantly dry heaving,
Knowing the worst is yet to come.
And the texture is terrible,
It’s like sandpaper set on fire,
Burning to a flaky crisp,
Squeeling like a set of tires.
And all the while,
There's never enough to drink,
And there’s always ashes in the water.
But you, on the other hand,
Desperation fits like a tight dress,
You're willing to give it all to me,
And that is exactly what I request.
Tell me how much you need me,
And let me taste how badly you do,
I can't get you out of my mind...
I think I'm desperate for you, too.