| You fucked me up and left me hanging from the bottom rung
|
| And now my wrists are sore, these hands no good for anyone
|
| So now I’m trying to make it through my first June without you
|
| Without you
|
| I can’t feel anything past these broken bones
|
| And this last December only made me feel more alone (Don't come home)
|
| I’m not saying you’re something that’s stuck in my head
|
| Cause it takes more than a thorn to keep me out of the garden
|
| I spent three summers here with my eyes open wide
|
| But now everything has crumbled along with your spine
|
| It’s more apathy than anything anymore
|
| And less of where I’m standing at your front door
|
| Begging that you let me in
|
| So go cry to your father in hopes that I’ll unwrite these songs about his
|
| daughter
|
| I don’t sleep anymore
|
| Knowing you’re not getting much
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend
|
| I don’t sleep anymore (Don't come home, don’t come home)
|
| Knowing you’re not getting much
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend (Don't come home, don’t come home)
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend
|
| (And you’re a little too close to home)
|
| I don’t sleep anymore (Don't come home, don’t come home)
|
| Knowing you’re not getting much
|
| (And you’re a little too close to home)
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend (Don't come home, don’t come home)
|
| On the fourth floor of Townsend |