I can see it in your eyes: you've given up on me. 
This life has been cruel to us both.
Do you hold the world in such low regard to disregard me?

Break both my legs or I'm leaving you
and you won't have to make up your mind. 
The alchemist is giving in to you this time. 

The moon doesn't shine: it just hangs on a string
for the sun's vanity, I suppose.
When it's full and red, we will line your bed with lavender. 

You wake in the bed that I left you in.
Nothing changed, but the date on the wall.
The alchemist is living inside you now.