This love rises in heat,
But it’s far from the tiny toaster ovens that the call
There are more ways to call my name
Than just one,
And it serves as justification for the things
That I do to you.
Fire fans flames
But so did the gentle breeze that meant no harm.
Say sorry to the brokenhearted boys for me,
Because I’m done exchanging nothing more than words and numbers
With people that never care enough.