| the well went dry
|
| the blood thinned out
|
| i scrapped through
|
| a thousand layers
|
| of paint-like years
|
| the secret’s in conjested grins
|
| i’m trying to find places to breathe now
|
| and if this were a book
|
| i’d call this song the final chapter
|
| and if you read it you’d be laughin'
|
| if it could end right now
|
| the last lines would be my body jolted in and out of stolen soundwaves
|
| the world expands or shrinks
|
| on any given monday
|
| tuesday evening dyes a room blue
|
| friday’s window has it’s own view
|
| and if this were a book
|
| i’d call this song the final chapter
|
| and if you read it you’d be laughin'
|
| if it could end right now
|
| the last lines would be good friend
|
| i loved you
|
| one life to show her
|
| the answers in your ear
|
| she lights her streaming by on stiff necks
|
| connected prayers used to sign off things
|
| keep on counting them
|
| maybe hold your breath
|
| i’m trying to exhale you softly
|
| don’t be so vein
|
| i’m not impressed in past-tense
|
| i don’t do impressions
|
| the blood has dried
|
| (good friend, i loved you)
|
| now i can wash my hands with tears you cried
|
| (one life to show her)
|
| if you could frame this feeling
|
| (good friend, i loved you)
|
| at night it would whisper to me good friend
|
| i loved you
|
| one life to show her
|
| the answers in your ear |