Lord,
if I’m sentenced to walk this life alone, then rip love out of me without mercy, rip up every root, leave nothing behind

Burn down every doorway where I keep waiting for somebody; I’m tired of bleeding for a hand that never comes

Make my heart a grave where hope and longing cannot breathe, then starve that blessed sprout in me that still begs to grow

Let affection turn into a language I’ve forgotten how to speak; I’d rather grow cold and hard, like red clay baked in July than to live like this

If nobody’s meant to love me, then make me stop needing it