Just Smoke Blown Out The Window
I'm going to burn a hole in this page about three minutes from now.
Nobody told me that she had to die alone.
Don't thank me.
I did it for the night ride.
I did it for the things I couldn't see.
Maybe it once meant something to somebody, but not anymore.
These nails aren't long enough to scratch my itch. Let me borrow your claws and I'll make it up to you in the morning. We'll go out to breakfast so you can get coffee and I'll have some stale air and a toothpick. Order ice water with a lemon for me so I can stare at it in still life, anything to keep your eyes away from mine. Talk to me about people I don't know who live in places that I've never been, nothing makes me feel more at home. I promise that I'll wait til you're not looking to turn my head painfully upwards. Eventually I'll sigh discretely and glance at the wrist where my watch should be. This kind of cowboy never really existed.
All I want for Christmas is ten damn good reasons.
I'll take a handful of pills from my pocket and throw them into the wind. You and I will look for them in the long grass and think about how we used to search for seashells on the beach. Let's hold poses like saints in renaissance paintings, frail frames bending towards dirt.
If you hold on until tomorrow then I'll hold the world together and we'll walk into the future without wondering what comes next.
Nobody told me that she had to die alone.
Don't thank me.
I did it for the night ride.
I did it for the things I couldn't see.
Maybe it once meant something to somebody, but not anymore.
These nails aren't long enough to scratch my itch. Let me borrow your claws and I'll make it up to you in the morning. We'll go out to breakfast so you can get coffee and I'll have some stale air and a toothpick. Order ice water with a lemon for me so I can stare at it in still life, anything to keep your eyes away from mine. Talk to me about people I don't know who live in places that I've never been, nothing makes me feel more at home. I promise that I'll wait til you're not looking to turn my head painfully upwards. Eventually I'll sigh discretely and glance at the wrist where my watch should be. This kind of cowboy never really existed.
All I want for Christmas is ten damn good reasons.
I'll take a handful of pills from my pocket and throw them into the wind. You and I will look for them in the long grass and think about how we used to search for seashells on the beach. Let's hold poses like saints in renaissance paintings, frail frames bending towards dirt.
If you hold on until tomorrow then I'll hold the world together and we'll walk into the future without wondering what comes next.