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John Mark McMillan - Philadelphia |
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You step through me |
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And the screen door hits the wood |
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And your packing all your things |
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You say your moving out to there to Hollywood |
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And I can't do a thing |
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You say there's nothing for you |
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In this cardboard town |
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And every bridge you cross |
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Your gonna burn it to the ground |
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You wont listen to a word that I'm telling ya |
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So who's running through the halls |
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In the houses of pain |
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That are staring back at me |
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Like the ocean from a plane |
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I swear I've seen your eyes |
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in the ghost of Philadelphia |
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I think about you late at night sometimes |
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When I can't sleep |
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Cause I can hear the train |
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It's always there |
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You just don't know it |
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Till a quarter to three |
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You just can't hear it in the day |
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When every body's got your number |
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In a plexy glass town |
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Where the birds ain't got wings |
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But no one makes a sound |
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Cause they all know how to fly |
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Just I wouldn't buy what they're selling ya |
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I run into your old man every once and again |
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Mostly in the spring |
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Reminds me of our younger and more genuine days when |
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You weren't so out of reach |
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Still for all your running |
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You just can't change a mile |
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Of the things you carry around |
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In the closet of your mind |
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And the days keep coming man |
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They never fail ya |
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Your never gonna run away |
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From what your hanging round your head |
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From what you said |
