I chipped the final remaining cyan pieces of you off my skin
Nostalgia turned to bad memories, and misadventures to sin
Aeonian melancholy isn’t worth the more bittersweet repasts
From that moment stars were erudite, it wasn’t meant to last
Maybe it’d be better for us if I didn’t manoeuvre to intervene
And I let the watch tick counterclockwise, I would never win
In the end, there is no ending, only the beginning of the start
Of the countdown of the detonation that would tear us apart.