| Were you surprised that we never spoke?
|
| Then in the still of the night-when nothing stirs-
|
| I woke and I gathered up some clothes.
|
| I never planned on this but its the way it goes
|
| and now it all seems so familiar like pages turned on calendars
|
| we get the same twelve months to fuck things up-year after year-
|
| and i can’t believe how down i am like the well i’m being lowered in,
|
| now water stops, the bucket drops us farther and farther down.
|
| Well i guess that you never knew me, or at least not well enough.
|
| So i fill my gut with dark red wine until my brain shuts off and my eyes go blind.
|
| You won’t see me there in that thick black air-yeah.
|
| i’ll finally make something disappear.
|
| Because i’ve been practicing disappearing
|
| and i think that i’ve got it down but now there is no sun just a cellar.
|
| Nowhere is sky its just that black, black dirt.
|
| Expanding outwards just echoes for answers
|
| not that it matters if its back or its forwards.
|
| Unhappy lovers with baskets of flowers use them as markers-
|
| the place where your bed once stood a time when it still felt good.
|
| But you’ll get that feeling back,
|
| you just need sometime to drink
|
| and so i’ll fill my gut with that blood red wine
|
| until my insides swim and my veins unwind.
|
| I’ll be lying there in that hot white air once
|
| that something is gone it might never reappear. |