The Broken Machine - Emily Davis

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

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.