|
I don't want to come back here, to this place. |
|
It's a cold that only comes from blaming yourself for two decades wasted. |
|
And I don't want to come back here, to this place. |
|
When it all just repeats in my head again, and |
|
I cannot stop it. |
|
And the glass in the trees, and all you left here, |
|
Reflects everything that |
|
I missed. |
|
And the pavement is still warm from the tires. |
|
I can still feel the fright that the night brings. |
|
Every song that you'd sing. |
|
And I won't ever come back here to this place. |
|
All I ever do is picture you smiling, and then picture you leaving. |
|
And the glass in the trees, and all you left here, |
|
Reflects everything that |
|
I missed. |
|
Slow down. |
|
I'll try and make it up to you. |
|
They've cut down the trees to try to forget you. |
|
But I took a vow to never forget you. |
|
If you're still here, then we're waiting. |
|
We'll wait for you to come back home to the broken little foes. |
|
Until the guilt grows and grows. |
|
When the time that's wasted comes back to haunt me. |
|
And I'll deserve every bit. because |
|
I'm not spiritual yet. |
|
I'm just reading the lines they gave me from the pulpit. |
|
And it's not fading off, we remember the years. |
|
As we sift through the laughter to find all the tears. |
|
And I'm not worthy of grievance, |
|
I did nothing to prevent this. |
|
And standing at your grave, |
|
I could have caused this. |
