Scale (con Luchè)

Love that hasn't died is simply tired of fighting. Words get stuck somewhere between "sorry" and "goodbye," and footsteps on the stairs sound louder than any argument. It seems everything has been said, but the heart is still searching for excuses, as if the ending can be rewritten if you look into each other's eyes long enough. There's bitterness and tenderness in the air in equal measure. Two souls, like unexploded bombs: outwardly calm, but every breath is a tremor of memories. No one is a villain, just too much pain to stay. And yet, somewhere inside, there's a desire for things to be less painful in the next life.