Each confession I make
Translates to you as an insult.
We must rid ourselves of this habit.
I once heard you say you'll never love anyone more.
Then why am I still fighting you?
And it's never felt like this, before.
No, we've never fought like this, before.
But you, should, know,
That I am on your side,
I am on your side.
Although it may seem useless.
I am on your side.
Your hands are bearing, worn down to the bone.
But you're still holding on me.
So I tighten my grip,
By god, I won't let you slip.
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