I wrote in ash. You hate when I smoke.
It's easy to get lost in nicotine dreams.
You hate that I don't sleep.
How can you remember the beginning of time?
I love it when you write
I was never the same person
you fell in love with.
You hate vague answers,
but expect them like your daily bread
because they keep you alive.
Truth is, I was born with a broken heart.
And we were born to live fast and die...
Young, yeah, that's what we are.
But it still hurt as much as it did when we were old.
And you need your fairy tales
as much as I do.
But I'm satisfied with the idea
and that was never really your style.
I love your smile. And the hand that covers it.
But the truth is, these broken hearts are as romantic as it gets.
We can stroll the streets of Barcelona
in that place where only you and I exist...
open your hand and take this kiss.
It may be all we'll ever have.
But compared to nothing,
I'm satisfied with just this dream.
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
So fall with me.