how easily people can appear more like numbers than figures mixes with late night thoughts and if this could stop on its own it would
persistency can be an annoyance or a blessing (thank god shes got a polygraph for that mind of hers)
we're nothing but complicated with words that weave a tangled web
its written in my head somewhere i can't manage to look that far back
i don't think i ever heard you say that before
"i dont think I ever meant it.."
shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead. gotta keep reminding myself that you're still around. even though it pains me to remember and even though it might save me to forget (i could never)
and the years have passed like the dead pigeons you never see in the city
and i wonder if you think about me so much that it hurts my brain
and i wonder if we could ever be the same
if this will turn out like a battle scar, one that you might forget or just get used to. could turn out to be a good story to tell or one that we dont want to talk about.
just like i've gotten used to the feeling of "one for all" instead of "all for one"
they're really the same (when put together) and thats probably the idea alexandre dumas had in mind.
like celebrity couples who become household names but when the papers are filed, seperation is more of a who? instead of a why or how or when.
and i wish i could explain it all but i'd rather you figure it out on your own (thats what you did to me)
and i'm sure guilt will be the death of me.
and if green ever met blue..
and tomorrow (or today if i get to sleep) is friday and that means i'll get home and shower, stare into the screen long enough to see if you got home safe last night.
and the thoughts i think are sick and i'd have myself behind the bench in a second if i could but i'll wait it out and make a few phone calls. start replacing "hello stranger" with "its me are you there"
we'd listen to gary jules and talk about the ninety-nine monster.
this could go on forever (apply to whatevers necessary)
lacta.alea.est
(youtellme)
we're nothing but complicated with words that weave a tangled web
its written in my head somewhere i can't manage to look that far back
i don't think i ever heard you say that before
"i dont think I ever meant it.."
shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead shes lost shes not dead. gotta keep reminding myself that you're still around. even though it pains me to remember and even though it might save me to forget (i could never)
and the years have passed like the dead pigeons you never see in the city
and i wonder if you think about me so much that it hurts my brain
and i wonder if we could ever be the same
if this will turn out like a battle scar, one that you might forget or just get used to. could turn out to be a good story to tell or one that we dont want to talk about.
just like i've gotten used to the feeling of "one for all" instead of "all for one"
they're really the same (when put together) and thats probably the idea alexandre dumas had in mind.
like celebrity couples who become household names but when the papers are filed, seperation is more of a who? instead of a why or how or when.
and i wish i could explain it all but i'd rather you figure it out on your own (thats what you did to me)
and i'm sure guilt will be the death of me.
and if green ever met blue..
and tomorrow (or today if i get to sleep) is friday and that means i'll get home and shower, stare into the screen long enough to see if you got home safe last night.
and the thoughts i think are sick and i'd have myself behind the bench in a second if i could but i'll wait it out and make a few phone calls. start replacing "hello stranger" with "its me are you there"
we'd listen to gary jules and talk about the ninety-nine monster.
this could go on forever (apply to whatevers necessary)
lacta.alea.est
(youtellme)

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