Walking Backward, Tripping Over Snakes

My love for you: As pure as lungs need air to breathe,
but that was not meant to be; your absence suffocates me.
I turn to follow prints of feet, crossing deserts to find Plan B;
all that's found are skulls and bones, it makes no sense to walk backwardly.
There is no resurrection of a love-dead-gone affection
when oxygen no longer longs for lips or passing through another's fingertips,
and that's exactly what I need in order to have the strength to run.
They say the body needs a lot of water; without it, there's dehydration.
I have thirst for love and second chance but how can a dancer dance
when his tongue is a raisin and stomach feels infested with ants?
And what is the meaning of an oasis, if the soul still needs its breath;
he could give me an ocean, but without you, there's only death.
All that's found are skulls and bones, it makes no sense to walk backwardly.
All that's found are skulls and bones, it makes no sense to walk
All that's found are skulls and bones, it makes no sense,
it makes no sense,
and this time, there's no resurrection.