If I could bottle my own motivations, And drop that bottle into the open void, If I could paint a scene of my own salvation, And have it hand delivered by the one decoyed;
If I could wrap my severed hands in an icebox, Mail them across the seas to my partner in crime, If I could say blessings over freckles and dreadlocks, If I could throw you a party with silent mimes;
If I could will myself to feel your presence now, If my strength held up even halfway to your own, If I I could let you lick my wounds somehow, If I could warm my soul at your hearthstone;
If I could articulate the growing hole in my heart, If I could lift the fog from the inky moors of my mind, If I could capitulate to the the cold and dark, If I could sift the bog for my lost days’ worth of time;
If I could bake you an edible birthday cake, If I could share your laughter on the windswept shore, If I could be enlightened by the time it’d take, If I could swear not to care anymore;
If I could write down all the ways I adore you, If I could stay on pitch and sing you a song, If I could bite down on any hand that’s hurt you, If I could, I would; like the day is long.