Come play fire with me,
we'll wither away with desire in our eyes,
Your words crawl up my neck, and those champagne dreams seem so far.
I'm a martyr, without a cause, without a messiah to call my own.
A director of an endless screenplay, dying to know how this story ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
it sounds like lyrics to a song by the used. and i love them. so nice =]