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Emily Davis
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The Broken Machine
Well there's nothing more tragic than a beatiful love
that grows cold in the night
washes out with the tide
of the tears that you cried
lamenting the things you desired.
Now you're a slave to the beat of the broken machine
your heart has become
so maudlin in grief that it ticks ever so slightly
on every third count.
But you, you were my divine
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you were everything, always, that I could not find in myself.
I was alone there and then there was you.
But you broke me, you broke me.
Yeah you broke me, you broke me.
ow you're a slave to the beat of the broken machine
your heart has become
so maudlin in grief that it ticks ever so slightly
on every third count.
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