Why do I still write why do I still call. Why do I still think there's hope for us at all. These are the tings I hate but they're the things I do to get over you.
The night like ships that drift the clouds float by. They brought no rain, they brought no dreams. The moon kaleidoscopes the ground. The darkness is as sure as death.
Working in a graveyard on a skeleton crew. Everyday above ground, is just too good to be true. Living in uncertainty is such a reality. It take nothing for granted, you got no secrets to keep.
I remember this town with a love by my side. And a peace seldom felt in this day and time. And it gets melancholy every now and again. When you let your mind go and it drifts way back when.