I didn’t write a novel, build a house or buy a car.
I didn’t sell my soul to see the ocean or kiss a stranger behind a bar.
I left my check book on the counter in some broken little town.
Fumbling with shivered fingers, finding.
Finding what I am now.
If I’m being honest I haven’t brushed my hair in 3 days,
and I guess I never really waited for your appraise.
Make me a broken doll with golden lace, leather sandals and a dirty face.
My heart won’t sing some pretty song,
It leak my secrets, bleeds my blood;
But the chorus just sings wrong.
Kiss me on the lips, whisky with a promise.
The kind kept, the kind that won’t haunt us.
Please find me.
Find me somewhere with my hands in my pockets and my eyelids bare, soon now.
Tell me about how we once were something before you tore us down.
Burnt fingers, new skin.
Old lies, another sin.
Forbidden colors, broken home.
Thru the phone.
Cut me off.
I beg you so.
Take me home,
Oh please just go.
I said goodbye,
Not quite right.
You whispered quiet, goodnight.
Let me go,
Wouldn’t kill you.
Guess it hurt,
Wish it chilled you.
Cut me off,
At the neck.
Told me you had nothing left.
Hurt me now,
I want out.
Who are you now?