From the album Golden Age
This is a song about someone who's convinced that wanting someone means you'll inevitably destroy them, treating devotion as a prelude to violence they can see coming but can't stop. The speaker frames their love as a foregone conclusion of harm, not because anything has happened yet but because they've decided desire itself is dangerous when it comes from them.
Tell me I'm no one else's but yours / Watching me undress, standing in the door
The opening demand for possession reverses the power dynamic the rest of the song will claim. The speaker is the one being watched, being claimed, yet they're already narrating this as a scene where they'll be the one doing damage.
You're like an angel / Nothing can touch you / But I wanna hold you
Calling someone untouchable then immediately saying you want to hold them creates a problem that doesn't need to exist. The pedestaling is the trap, not the desire.
You're such an angel / And I'm gonna hurt you / I know I'm gonna lose you / But God, I don't want to
She states the harm as fact before it happens, like announcing a prophecy she's the only one writing. The 'but God, I don't want to' reads like an apology for something she hasn't done yet and maybe never would if she stopped predicting it.
Lilies grow all over the room / And when you come inside, they bloom / There is nothing that I want but you / Tell me, can I be seen through?
Mercy Necromancy's verse shifts the frame to the beloved's perspective, and suddenly the question isn't about inevitable harm but about visibility and whether devotion can be mutual. The lilies blooming when the beloved arrives suggests responsive love, not destruction, which makes the returned chorus hit differently—the 'I'm gonna hurt you' claim now feels like something imposed on a scene that didn't require it.
The song's core tension is that the speaker has written a script where love equals harm and treats that script as fate rather than as a story she's choosing to tell. The beloved's verse offers a counter-narrative where devotion blooms responsively, but the speaker returns to her certainty anyway, like she needs the ending to be tragic more than she needs it to be real.