take it. so i sit on the porch and i listen to traffic. i read the paper. this is water. this is wood. this is your living room. this feels good. half fiction, half
am i missing something in the way you said to me, "we're missing something, let's find the vacancy." the object shouldn't be to be on top of things.
it's raining on the other side of these walls. the thunder reminds us of the times we hoped for nothing but storms and creepy fishing boats to sink.
i dreamt this was a castle. i was stuck by the washing machine. you slept by the television. somehow, i couldn't sleep. eventually you woke up and i
you bleached the night with your headlights. blinded and caught fire to all my secrecy. and now i'm burning down. can you take one good look around.
i read in the paper that another man made a difference today. column thirteen explained the reasons they had to put him away. but i can't stand here
ok if i leave you there? i really think i should. is it ok if i unplug the phone? is it alright to lock every door? is it ok to make rash decisions over nothing while i'm half
put the cans safely back on the shelf. take a breath, grab a hold of yourself. if i had a headache for every other bad day you're dragging around, i'
thought of you yesterday, think it's illegal. but i'm running free otherwise, free as a bird. there's no breaking point, no barbed wire army waiting
left me on the edge, looking over. you said i was wild but i just felt tired. it's hard to care, just like it's hard to remember, somtimes. and you can
when reason makes a trip to the other side, we slip under the cover, swim in the town's tide. let go just to discover how little we know about each other
awake and pacing, preoccupied by the clattering trays, stuck in a daze by the fuzzy ceiling radio and rusty hangings that say, "you love us because we
you've had those torn jeans on for days. you keep humming that same song. we never argue but they say it's bad if we get along. on the phone you dry
don't come home like that. home isn't where we should be hiding. this room is echoing terrifically. your tongue is slipping instinctively. it's a shame
it feels so hood Have the whole world saying, "How you still so good?" Well, I do, this in my slumber summer I ain't none of these half-assed newcomers
a piece of info from who knows I'm gettin' fed up yo 'cuz Words become a quote or somethin' better like a story It's far from okey doke close to fiction Half
before your eyes About to start shit that'll attract the flies And then you hear lies followed by some cries It's about to be a catastrophe Half of
