I've got gasoline and a box of matches

but I only need one to get the job done.

there's a bridge beneath my feet,

unsafe and worn, it can't take the heat.

I'll pour the gasoline all over,

like the tears you let stain my cheeks

and this time I won't hesitate

to throw down that match.

No matter how scared I am

of getting burned,

the burning of this bridge could never hurt

half as bad as the splinters in my hands do

from holding on so tightly

for so long.

I did my best to restore this bridge,

believe me.

but there's two sides to this bridge,

and I'm dropping the match on mine.