"our story is finished
but the ink is fading
and i forgot what we wrote on page one
notes scrawled in margins between lips
look me in the eyes and tell me
'I wouldn't change a thing'
wouldn't change a thing, no"
"writing nonstop in a coffeeshop
drawing doodles of daydreams
wide eyed and wild
she says 'secrets dont make friends'
but word is friends make secrets
so keep an ear to the ground
and an eye on mine
and we'll go down in history
5, 4, 3, 2, one more time"
"the stories stained my eyes
and of course my memory
but you never pulled that trigger
you turned to the cork tree
we will be your needle and thread
poking these words straight through to your head
when you're coming apart at the seams
we'll leave you begging for more of this scene"
scene of the crime.
crime of the scene.
they both make sense in a too-late kindof way.
