in our world made of {strings} // Puppetmasters

[Stare]

I've got treasures in my head
Dreams like diamonds, all wrapped up in gold
And will anybody ever know?

The best kind of act is the one performed at all hours of the day, while wearing costumes and masks that never come off and being acted out on a stage that has no ends. A warm smile finds its way onto my face somehow when I pass Danny in the hall, footsteps silent on the velvet carpet, even though fire toward her burns deep in my soul. When my parents await me at the door I give them a reassuring smile, promising that no, Mom, I promise I'm not going to another performance and yes, Dad, I'll stay away from the puppets tonight before shoving open the door and stepping into the sweet silence of sunset in District Seven. The mansion is left behind, tossed back off my shoulders like a shirt that has grown too small, and I shake my hair back with a slight smile on my face. Some people may find it scary how easily I can lie to my parents these days - perhaps it is obsession that acts as a magnet that draws me away from them and toward the marionettes I adore, or perhaps it is simply the lack of love in that cold household that repels me away almost every day. Nod your head and take a bow - Part One of the act is finished.

The sky fades from its normal beryl expanse into streaks of fantastic color, like flames of amber shooting out of a white-hot core that quickly sinks below the charred horizon. Everything that stands between myself and the brilliant sky is blackened, simple silhouettes that bend and sway in the summer wind. It's a beautiful set, painted with fantastic colors - a perfect backdrop for the next scene. My bare feet pad against the dried dust road, stirring up delicate clouds of dirt in my wake and settling a thin layer of brown between my toes. My twig-like limbs swing aimlessly back and forth, uneven pendulums that count down the seconds until show time. Tick, tock, tick, tock… In my future, all blurred and warped and twisted, I see their blank eyes and shimmering strings, and I feel their call to me. My subjects call to their Puppet Queen, and who am I to neglect them?

At this time of day, most have already left the woods in hopes to return home before the night falls. While, as lumberjacks, we are tough by nature, even we know that it is a dangerous thing to roam the trees when darkness reigns. There have been far too many haunted tales told around blazing fires of people who died in the woods because they were attacked by criminals or wild animals. Of course, if one were to believe every single one of those stories, than they would have to believe that there are hundreds of ghosts now roaming the woods.

Sunset is the time when the calls of the axes finally die, but it is always the time when voices rise in the town. It is the time of the Puppetmasters. The majority of our streetlamps are burnt out in this district, so the town remains dark when the moon rises. But if a child were to look hard enough, they would find the warm glow radiating from our stage, and would be led to a world beyond their imagination. Dreams are always stronger and closer at night, and one doesn’t have to be asleep to feel them. They exist in the breath of every night, heard only by those who dare to listen.

When I approach the shack that acts as our performing area, I smile. It would seem that the others have all arrived early, which is a rare occurrence. I sweep into the small room, our backstage, and offer everyone a wide smile. Work ceases, if only momentarily, for them to smile back or at least nod, acknowledging my presence. Affection has never been huge in this group, but I think that’s something we’re all okay with. In fact, I don’t think there’s a whole lot of stuff that we’re not okay with. In our friendship, we don’t have expectations or limitations for each other, and that’s one of the reasons we work so well.

I glance around the backstage and my eyes light up at the delightful mess. Tangled strings and random wooden limbs hang from the walls, with fake eyes and wigs to be glued to their puppets spilling over shelves. Lengths of different colored and textured fabrics are tossed this way and that, and crumbled pieces of paper form a white carpet on the floor. Rough sketches of set ideas, puppet plans, and some just random scribbles are nailed to the walls. Lanterns light up our workspace, hung by strings that reach all around the room. They bathe our world in a glittering, golden luminescence, turning it into a kind of dreamland. It’s cozy and comforting in the best of ways, and I could almost glow with content as I move toward the center of the room.

“Everyone ready for the show tonight?” I ask, pausing a moment to glance up the stairs to my attic, where the puppets await me. Soon. “I saw some kids on my way here, so I think we’ll have a pretty big audience today.”

((OOC: This thread is the first thread in the Puppetmasters plot. It isn’t very significant to the actual plot, but is more for people to get used to RPing with their characters and with each other. It’s not a mandatory thread, but I highly recommend it. Post whenever, guys, and then we’ll stick to that order throughout the thread. Basically, the thread is them getting prepared for the show, performing, and then reacting at the end, so you should only have to make about three posts total. ^^ ))

My flaws and imperfections try to bring me down
Can't be afraid
Only my dreams can same me now

[Danny]

Speaking
Doing
Thinking
Hearing
Other

I am shy.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that. Not because I'm faking it, but because I have an excuse. I guess. When I leave my house I don't have to remind myself where I'm going because they know. I know they aren't happy about it, either. But I am also not happy at them right now. Every day when I have a show, my dad shoves dentistry down my throat. I just want to carve wood. I just want to watch things happen and partake in them. But I don't need people to know I partake in them.

I pick up one of the wooden puppets, and just look at it. I know now is the time to apply any finishing touch that it needs on it, but I'm really too scared to touch anything. Everything is already perfect. The strings are already attached, and I don't want to tangle them up. I just rub the puppet's back and wonder if it somehow has a soul, now that it's somewhat like a person. I would feel bad for it. I once read a book like that. Every time it would lie, it's nose would grow bigger. The puppet could also control itself. This puppet can't, if it does or does not have a soul.

I'm sorry.

And then she walks in, and she is so beautiful. She smiles a wide smile and her teeth are nice. For some reason, I hope that smile is intended only for me. I have never felt that selfish before. Even though I won't do what my parents want me to do job-wise, I have never felt like such a non-selfless person. Part of me felt sorry for my thoughts. But, I still hope that her smile was intended for me, and me only. I don't even think she knows my name. And she talks to all of us, not just me, which I am certain of.

"Everyone ready for the show tonight?... I saw some kids on my way here, so I think we’ll have a pretty big audience today."

I don't want to bother her, but I don't want to not bother her. I mean, she did ask us if everyone was "ready for the show tonight." I should go answer her. I am shy. I remind myself, once again. I had almost forgot. If I go up and talk to her, I will choke on words. But, there she is. And her voice is so sweet. And she is so approachable. I figure, Why not? But I also think, Why? I walk up to Anabella. My feet feel heavy as they approach her. When I finally do reach her, I forgot what I was going to say. "Yeah... I looked over all of the carvings... they look good." I mutter stupidly. "I-I mean if you wanna double-check them?... They're over there." I think about telling her she looks pretty but I don't.

I am shy.


(ooc; Okay! I hope this is acceptable for now. This is my first time writing him. He's a little tough to write, but that's the point of this thread, right?)

[cass]

I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart
But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start
You put your arms around me
And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go
You put your arms around me and I'm home

Wasp Hopper -- The Woodcutter

Last night I cried.

The tears slide down my cheeks and burned like the fire that consumed me. There was nothing but self-loathing and hate in those tears. I hated myself. But a long time ago I use to care so much for the person that I was, I use to love who I was. I had a girl that I loved, a girl that brought a smile to my lips every day. Now a smile seems to be a rare occurrence, and can be only drawn out from great joy, and even then it is spoiled by my self-hate. There is perhaps one person in this horrid world that can bring a genuine smile to my lips. The carver; his name was Cedric.

Cedric was my closest friend. He and I had been friends ever since I had started cutting the wood that he carved. I always saved him the best bits so that he could make the most amazing puppets out of them. My favourite part of the day was bringing him the freshly chopped wood, still chipped and rough. I would always carry large bundles tied nicely together with a knot. The buddles were made from an assortment of wood, the most prominent pine. From experience, pine wasn’t the best for puppets. Sure it allowed the carving to be easier, but it was not as strong as the less common oak. The wood I always tried to give to Cedric.

I cried because of Cedric. I cried because of myself. I hated myself for what I had become. I use to love girls so much, I use to cherish them, I still do, but I never feel the spark I once had. It all stopped after Elena left me. Now I found myself changing, I find the spark filling me in the presence of the boy who carves the wood. Whenever I look at him I feel joy, the very same joy I had felt the day I meet Elena. When he talks to other girls, and when he flirts with other girls I feel the pain I felt when Elena left me. I think I’m in love. I think I’ve fallen for a boy.

Today was unlike most days. I found myself strolling through the empty streets of district seven. The sun slowly faded off into night, the last rays still clung to the horizons, like fragile fingers, that scraped the Earth, hoping to not fall. But they sang the song of failure, as the wind rang through the town, because they would fall, just like every day and slowly they slide further and further into the darkness that would be there home, until tomorrow. My feet make the occasional sound against the gravel that lay thickly on the ground. The small stones clung to the inner part of my boot, as I lifted my show they fell back down and clattered to the ground, falling beside the others.

To be honest I didn’t know why I was out hear walking to the latest puppet show. I wasn’t needed. They didn’t need me to cut down any more wood at the moment, but I had to go because these were the people I worked with and besides, the Cedric would be there. My stomach churned at the thought of seeing him, after all my split tears had been about him. I had finally accepted I was gay. So last night I had cried, because I never wanted to be like this. I wanted to find a girl and have children and be a dad. I’m letting everyone I know down, most of all myself.

I place a fake smile on my lips as I get closer, and the younger members of the district see me. My inner turmoil would stay inside I would not let it show. That was not who I was. I was not a person who made others feel bad. I was not a person who burdened others with my own problems, I kept them balled up until I couldn’t hold it any longer, and then when I broke I cried. I told no one. I just let it out. No one knew the real me, I would never show them; I couldn’t hurt anyone the way Elena had hurt me.

“Everyone ready for the show tonight?” The voice floats through the air to me, and I turn my eyes to see Annabelle addressing everyone. I take a step back, and move into the shadows, staying away from them all. I wasn’t needed, I wouldn’t annoy them. So I stand and listen, watching them all, but saying nothing.“I saw some kids on my way here, so I think we’ll have a pretty big audience today.” I had seen those kids too. I open my mouth to tell her, that there was quite a lot when he comes in. My jaw snaps shut and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I look at him. I scold myself for being so childish. Cedric looks at Annabelle, and I don’t miss the look. I always saw that look that he gave her.

It was the same way I saw him.

IHow many times will you let me change my mind and turn around
I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown
I hope that you see right through my walls
I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling
You put your arms around me and I'm home

(OOC: Sorry about this post, it is just everywhere. Trying to get into him xD)

[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
and the heart is hard to translate
it has a language of its own
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It had been quite hard for Shea Lovelace to grow accustomed to translating the mismatched jumble of stories and ideas and dreams that played out in her head on a daily basis into language, words that could be expressed clearly on paper. She'd never had a reason to before; her ideas had only been hers, and now that she was offering them up to someone else - a whole handful of someone elses - well, it was quite a bit to get used to. You should be happy to share them. Happy now that you actually have a place to fit in, for once. I am happy! Her first scripts had been nothing short of erratic messes, definitely not helped by the untidy scrawl she considered handwriting. But after some practice, she got a fair bit better. Not by much. Oh, hush!

It was still quite beyond Shea how any of this had come to pass, but she was grateful for it. It was only after she found friends in the puppetmasters that she realized how much she'd been craving the company of someone other than her toddler sister and the faeries that had dogged her ever since she - Dogged you? You love us, you need us, you always have! Okay, well, maybe not dogged. Maybe she'd enjoyed their company. Maybe she still did. Of course I still do, they're my best friends! But it was nice to immerse herself in human companions for once, and her faeries had, grudgingly, relinquished some of their hold on her attention and permitted her to associate with far more tangible and legitimate beings.

That wasn't to say she'd forgotten all about them, though. Quite the contrary, actually; her little faerie companions served as potent inspirations for the scripts she wrote, and even helped her along when she was stuck in a rough spot with an uncharacteristic vacancy of imagination. Often she based her scripts on real, true adventures she'd had with them in the past, exploring the woods and fluttering through the forest as if she had wings too when, in reality, they were the only ones. She'd never come out and told her newfound friends about the voices in her head - no, she had enough experience to know that oftentimes it made others judge her, because apparently faeries weren't normal things to have. But she didn't make a conscious effort to subdue them, either - she couldn't, so quite frequently she slipped and spoke to them aloud when she was with the group. She knew they must've assumed something, but, courteously, they never brought it to attention. And that's what friends should be.

Shea had arrived at the stage that night early, before everyone else, hoping to find some quiet time to daydream up ideas for the script because her own home had been permeated by the noise of Kenzie's screams; the little girl had been vehemently opposed to eating her vegetables for dinner, which Shea could absolutely not understand since vegetables were one of the very best things to eat. The only thing you eat, besides fruit. One of these days you're going to die from lack of protein, and don't expect us to save you. Thanks for being so optimistic! The soon to be sixteen-year-old was bent over a sheet of parchment paper, scribbling madly a story about a kingdom in the clouds, when Anabella walked in.

The writer gave a short smile in greeting before bending back over to scribble out the final sentences of the script, and then, satisfied, she sat back and flexed her fingers. Already she was exhausted; the sudden urge to be out in the woods, flying, dancing, laughing, skipping along with her faeries as she always had overcame her, and it was all she could do to force herself to stay in her chair and accept the fact that she could not spend her whole life that way, no matter how much she wanted to. So get your head out of the clouds and do your job! Oh, hush. I just did my job! Shea plastered on a happy grin that soon became real, anyway - she could never stay upset for long - and responded cheerfully to the puppeteer's inquiry. "The script's all set!" As she said it, though, she went to lift her hands from the desk and the sudden movement upset the pile of papers, which floated in a mess down to the ground. "Oh... oh, no," Shea fretted, scrambling to pick them up and put them in order while she listened to her faeries snickering at her clumsiness. Better off in the woods, I guess.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
it talks in tongues and quiet sighs
and prayers and proclamations
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

[/color]

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[pika]

Remnants of the day's sunlight filtered through the dusty window into the disarray that was Dallas' room, shining brightly as the evening began to force the sun down into its rest and bring the moon up to shimmer down onto everything that the sun had kissed. A clutter of paper, bedraggled clothes, and miscellaneous articles of rubbish covered his floor, threatening to poke and prick at the bare soles of his feet. With barely enough light to see by, he relied mostly on his sense of touch, edging his feet inch by inch toward the door at the other end of the room. With the last of the sunlight soon to fade, his parents had surely gone to bed, preparing for another day of tedious and relentless work. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he finally reached the door, and he cracked it open silently and cautiously.

The light sounds of sleep echoed through the hallway from his parents' room, deep breaths and the occasional ruffle of the blankets as they tossed in their dreams. He crept down the hallway, still surrounded by darkness, and edged himself toward the backdoor in the kitchen. It opened up to a dusty, craggy pathway, which led to the main road in front of his house. The backdoor, silent compared to the rusty, creaky front door, never gave away his cover of sneaking out into the black night. Dallas slipped on the shoes that lay discreetly next to the backdoor, and pulled open the door. The night breeze pressed its hands against Dallas' face, the cool air removing him from the slight daze that he was in.

His feet made their way down the path on their own, knowing the curves and tiny hills by heart. He could see a little clearer now, the sky painted with brilliant oranges, reds, and deep purples. Soon that light would fade too, and so would his good energy. Despite where he was going tonight, and regardless of what he was going to do there, he couldn't help but feel a dark feeling pulling at the strings in the very back of his mind. Snap out of it, Dallas, he thought. The darkness always gets to you like this. For once could you just have a good time in it?

His feet led him down sidewalks, side streets that were nothing if they weren't creepy and uninviting, and finally to the front of the building that was his destination. Where all the magic and good things happen. He pushed open the door, inviting him inside into a dusty, rickety shack. The front entrance was hugely displeasing, with darkness everywhere and cobwebs wherever you turned. But the warm, familiar glow of lanterns shimmered from the hallway next to him, and he turned to face the welcoming smiles of the others.

The sight was comforting, in a way. With everyone in their respectable places doing their jobs, it was impossible to distinguish anything out of the ordinary. He could see Shea, scribbling madly at the desk in the corner; her job seemed the most difficult, with her having to create an entire plot and storyline in little time. They always came out magical, though, and Dallas was happy to have her around. Her hair waved and curled around her face, framing it and giving her bright green eyes an even more spectacular appearance. She was shorter than Dallas, but he didn't mind too much. He found himself staring at her for a little while longer than he should have been, and he cast his gaze to the other side of the room. He didn't exactly hide his affection for the girl-in fact it was quite obvious-but even so, he hoped no one had seen him gazing from afar.

Centering his attention on the sudden noise from behind him, he saw Anabella emerge from the shadows of the front entrance. Her eyes dance with energy and excitement, and Dallas can't help but smile at her as she floats toward the center of the room. The light from the lanterns kiss her face delicately, painting her face with a heavenly yellow glow. "Everyone ready for the show tonight?" she asks softly. "I saw some kids on my way here, so I think we’ll have a pretty big audience today." Her eyes grow bigger as they fill with more excitement. He thought she could practically float away, up into the attic where she performed her show, and even above that, into the stars and the breezy night. She seemed that happy, that lively. Free.

Dallas wished he could feel free for once, too.

[/justify][/color]

[Stare]

Through the crowd I was crying out
And in your place were a thousand other faces
I was disappearing in plain sight

Their answers come softly, carrying like spirits to all corners of the comfortably cluttered space. A smile ghosts over my lips as Cedric approaches me with all signs of caution, but he shouldn't be so wary when he is the one that carries the knife. He's quiet most of the time, choosing to go unnoticed through our world, but his works are things of beauty. He creates the basic skeletons of my best friends, making bodies out of lifeless wood, bringing form to deadened logs. "Don't doubt yourself, Cedric," I say with a small laugh, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulders. "Your works are always brilliant. I don't need to look over them."

Another response finds me from the candlelit corner of the room and I turn my eyes toward Ms. Lovelace, a pleased expression on my face. As usual, Shea's beautiful writing has been completed just in time. I'm about to nod my approval when the sheets of paper suddenly scatter across the floor like scattered wings. Immediately I am by her side, stooping down to gather the writing along with her, my smile widening when I lift one to read it. "Shea, this is beautiful. But I've come to expect nothing less," I say, my eyes shining. I quickly retrieve the rest of the pages and sweep back into a standing position, nodding to Dallas and Wasp to demonstrate my appreciation for them coming. "Showtime," I murmur before giving them a wave for goodluck and ascending the steep stairway up into my kingdom.

The puppets lay on their sides, scattered over the floor carelessly, and I frown. The ceiling is too low for me to properly walk, and so I drop to my hands and crawl over to right their positions, caressing their smooth features affectionately. "I'm back," I whisper quietly, grasping onto the controls of the few that Shea stated I would need in her writings and gazing into their eyes. "We're going to put on a brilliant show tonight," my voice sings across the room while lanterns flicker all around. Candlelight spills over us as I move over to the hole in the floor, gazing down into the cerulean night at the children who have gathered before the stage eagerly, their anticipation drawing their eyes toward the stage and away from the girl who smiles down at them just above their heads. Such a beautiful thing, to be a child. It is something to be longed for. My eyes flash with memories, the sound of Daniella's voice in my ears, and I drop my head for a moment, closing my eyes quietly. It is something that I miss.

I see the signal given by someone below - Dallas, I think - and smile as I allow the puppets to drop down below, strings snapping taut. The children applaud and squeal their delight, no doubt suspiring for anything light and whimsical to draw them away from the ashen reality of Panem. Our stage is made up of bright hues and soft fabrics, words woven by Shea into beautiful new worlds where magic truly does exist and miracles can happen, banishing the sorrows from the corners of their mind until they are no more. And then there is I, the puppetmaster, who brings these creations, the combined efforts of all my friends, to life. I draw up their broken forms, straightening them and raising their chins up to the sky. Each tremble of my slender fingers brings movement to their wooden limbs, clacking their joints and making them dance.

The words of the page, voices in Shea's head, erupt from my own mouth and those carved by Cedric himself. And then it is like there is candlelight flowing through my veins, warming every part of me until I am finally alive. I can forget about Daniella and my parents disapproval as I pour my soul into the wooden figures below. The voices spilling off my tongue are not my own, but those of the dancing creatures below. The children clap and jump up and down while Keepers watch nearby, always wary of those who can bring joy into the subjects of their torture. But the Puppetmasters are not criminals - we are saviors, rescuing the youngest of our district from despair and carrying them up high so they can see the sun and the moon and stars.

If only we could do the same for ourselves.

Would you leave me if I told you what I've done?
And would you need me if I told you what I've become?
'cause it's so easy to say it to a crowd

(OOC: I will code later ^^)

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[Danny]

But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for .
What do I stand for? What do I stand for?
Most nights, I don't know anymore.
This is it, boys, this is war...

Seeing this makes it better. Seeing all the kids watching our show, seeing their faces light up as Anabella acts out the puppets. Knowing that all my good work, my carvings, are worth it. Seeing this makes it worth it. Seeing how detailed I am with my carvings, how much time and practice I put into them is worth it because I know this is what I'm supposed to do, for now at least, not be a dentist. Because I don't only know this is what I'm supposed to do, it's what I like to do.

Eventually my thoughts fade and my eyes shut but I still hear Anabella's mesmerizing voice. And eventually, all I'm thinking is, This would be a nice way to die, not that I want to die now, But everything is perfect. And it's true. People being pleased, my work being shown off. Her voice. I want to fall asleep and I want to stay here forever behind the curtains, not knowing what's truly happening, what the puppets are doing, the wooden ones and the ones made of flesh, but I know that sometimes, some things can be perfect without practice.

This is perfect.

[cass]

I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart
But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start
You put your arms around me
And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go
You put your arms around me and I'm home

I use to believe that the simple meaning of ‘my world was shattered’ was just a child’s way of complaining, a child’s heartbreak and pain.

I never use to think that it was possible for your world to be shattered as a living adult, a person who can feel pain, but understands the meaning behind it and why, oh why we feel that ache in our chest as it fills you to the point where tears begin to flow and you wish. You beg and you plead with the God that is mighty and high, the person that supposedly created this world. You ask them to bless you with the end of your cruel existence and at that point you can allow your sorrow to swallow you whole and suddenly the phrase gathers meaning beneath you. It isn’t all about your world shattering, because no visible world can shatter, the Earth will continue to spin no matter what you say or do. You can’t stop it, it is impossible for time to hesitate, to pause and think about what has happened to one individual. And so it keeps turning and soon everyone forgets about your little problems.

But of course I never forget, I never forget the heart ache and pain that I have suffered, or the time when finally it was healed, the bleeding hole in my heart became whole. And just as it became better and the pain that so often had riddled my body fled me it comes. It comes back with a force to be reckoned with, with more pain and agony then it once had and a heart that had mended was killed and trodden on and stamped into the red dirt that was stained with your blood. No one cares, but me, no one cares that a girl so badly hurt me that I turned to men and that that love for men is my secret, something I have told no one… Including the boy that I love. He will never know. I will never be able to gather the courage that one needs to declare love, it is hard enough to speak the words to the people you love, how could I say them to another?

Like the shadow that I am I stay back, hidden behind the dark light that seeps into the corner of the room. I try to hide myself deep into the folds of the darkness, letting them enfold themselves around me until I become invisible and no one can see me. Then maybe the sadness and the pain that flashed on my cheeks would not be evident and for a moment I wished the world would shatter and crack and break and I would be thrown into a deep a dark crevice where no one could find me. Maybe than the holes that littered my tortured heart might begin to heal and I could be happy again.

Besides, even if I was to disappear it would be hard to notice that I was gone. My job was to simply give them the wood that they needed for the puppets. I did nothing, but that simple chore, it required no extra effort on my behalf. I was replaceable. Disappearing suddenly would affect no one, if only I had the strength to do it. To just step away and leave, turn around and run like a coward, the coward that I was. There was no one left to stop me.

I stay, because I have nothing and no one else to talk to (A neglect my sister, for she does not love me the same way care for her). There is no other friend, person or thing that I could go to. I had nothing better to do with my life than watch the boy of my dreams stare at another girl. His eyes hungry, his posture and everything he did like that of a starving cat. To me it was as obvious as the sun in the sky that he loved this girl. Anabella was perfect in every way; Cedric could see it and he knew how he felt about her. Anabella seemed as ignorant of his feelings as Cedric seemed to mine. As her words left her mouth I cannot help myself, but look at Cedric’s face, he closes his eyes as if drinking in her voice, as if she was an angle. My chest begins to heart again and I am sure that for the millionth time since I had meet Cedric my world began to shatter.

IHow many times will you let me change my mind and turn around
I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown
I hope that you see right through my walls
I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling
You put your arms around me and I'm home