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God bless the daylight,. The sugary smell of springtime. Remembering when you were mine. In a still suburban town. . When every Thursday. I'd brave those mountain passes.
When we laugh indoors. the blissful tones bounce off the walls,. and fall to the ground. Peel the hardwood back to let them loose. from decades trapped and listen so still.
The glove compartment is inaccurately named. And everybody knows it. So I'm proposing a swift, orderly change. . 'Cause behind its door, there's nothing to keep my fingers warm.
So this is the new year. and I don't feel any different. . The clanking of crystal. Explosions off in the distance. in the distance.... . So this is the new year.
That's incentive. . You see nothing to be adored when obsession takes it's toll. You can't place you in between the pages of fashion magazines. Paper cuts from turning pages just like a bad dream.
There's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes. I threw them to sea, but a gust blew them backwards. and the sting in my eyes that you then inflicted was.
Holding fast until the rent checks wear thin. because it hasn't sunk in... so far. . Well it's a drab routine, the dust storms building. and then it's hard to come clean.
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Last night I dreamt that I was you.. I was dressed in all black with dark glasses and attitude.. Such a pose I could simply not hold through days in the northern town that I had once called a home..
You've been forewarned of the shake-shakedown. Opinions stamped on the pulp of the tabloid newsstand. Gossip that's stacked at your door. . You swallowed the last of free MA.
His head was a city. Of paper buildings. And the echoes that remain. Of old friends and lovers. Their features bleeding. Together in his brain, oh. And once it started it was harder to tell them apart, oh.
I intentionally wrote it out to be an illegible mess.. You wanted me to write you letters, but I'd rather lose your address,. and forget that we'd ever met and what did or did not occur..
I put on my overcoat. And walked into winter. My teeth chattered rhythms. And they were grouped in twos or threes. Like a Morse code message was sent from me to me.
Three wasted years, standing still. As you opened up, eighteen miles wide. On this country drive. . I can't keep up. 'Cause you're so far gone. And it's all too much hindsight.
When the wind picked up the fire spread. And the grapevines seemed left for dead.. And the northern sky, like the end of day,. The end of days.. . A wake up call to a rented room.
This won't be the last you'll hear from me: it's just the start.. I hope that he keeps you up for weeks like you did to me.. . I will hold a candle up to you to singe your skin..
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Sometimes I think this cycle never ends. We slide from top to bottom and we turn and climb again. And it seems by the time that I have figured what it's worth.
The workadays were propping the bar quietly erasing the week and. I was in the corner booth thinking (pretending to read). About the possibility of one to love unconditionally and the words that.