This one's for you and me,

living out our dreams,

we're all right where we should be,

with my arms out wide,

I open my eyes,

and now all I want to see

is a sky full of lighters.

A sky full of lighters.

You taught me how to set my hand on fire.

Make a fist, click the red switch until

my fist fills with fluid, then ignite it,

and splay my fingertips to perform firework flames,

too tight, too late, and I feel the pain

but no worse than the shame

of failing you again.

I recline on your bed while you play Slim Shady,

I wonder how someone who listens such violent melodies

could melt my heart so tenderly.

You turned and set my heart on fire,

your touch leaks gasoline,

a flicker too tiny to give enough light

to stop me from being blinded by the fright

of falling into your arms,

because it means I depending on you to catch me

when so independently I wanted to be

free,

leaning up against my maple tree,

watching the people passing, you stood

and blew smoke that clouded my starry night.

You taught me how to set my life on fire,

but never knew I did it because

I wanted to you see me through the flames.

I wanted to be your lighter.

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