its old fingerprints on warm glasses (half full/ half empty)
the pounding ache of the same morning sun (each day)
its the same look you get from the clock every afternoon
just another drive home
look up at the sky for once and cry out "bring me home"
i'll start running now.
its wishful dead eyes that stay glued to moving pictures of far away places that promise better everythings
borrowed and used breaths that lift these legs and arms everyday
running on reserve
what happens when it runs out......
just realizing now that all the punches i threw were at myself
falling in love was really just falling out of touch
falling for you was just falling to the bottom
this view of watching you leave is too familiar
and happens way too often.
"you can't save them all"
knowing she thinks of me less and less.....
been roaming around far too long
forgot what i was searching for
rather roam with one hand holding yours
trace the outlines of your voice but really- i don't know the first thing about this
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