Berenice my hands my feet are worn as much as yours are
And though my head, my hands, my heart are forming
They still feel worlds apart
Berenice beneath it all you're golden and thats all I'm feeding on
And though my head my hands are growing colder
We move in circles now
Berenice theres no release at all thats not worth dying for
And it's not for our desires but our design that we all fall apart