Lost in this inability to comprehend this,
these futile attempts just to fathom it.
That if you're truly unable to own it all,
you can't handle a single shred of this.
So you wave goodbye in your own confusing way,
leave an open door you're locked behind, you made
the frigid Winter wind carry your whisper to me,
`look at the welcome mat there at the door frame'.
As if to say, `the choice is yours now, but what's left to say?
See if you can find the space and time to find a way to face me.'
You asked, `could we ever lock eyes again?' You've said you're
sick of always being the strong one with nowhere left to breathe.
You seem to be sick of the game I'm not trying to play,
you say you love me and you don't feel the same from me,
and you don't want anything short of everything for without
that something there must be nothing there left to save.
And so you work to erase
and I try to just walk away instead.
And I read your words but
I just can't see inside your head.
Its the third time you died and in the twilight
your ghost dances again to my soul's melody,
touching me softly, singing to me sweetly,
`don't close your eyes, don't sleep and dream.'
And when I listen to you and silence my thinking,
you're dancing to the melody, touching me softly.
And when I listen to you and silence my thinking,
I see you're still the hand considerately killing me.
these futile attempts just to fathom it.
That if you're truly unable to own it all,
you can't handle a single shred of this.
So you wave goodbye in your own confusing way,
leave an open door you're locked behind, you made
the frigid Winter wind carry your whisper to me,
`look at the welcome mat there at the door frame'.
As if to say, `the choice is yours now, but what's left to say?
See if you can find the space and time to find a way to face me.'
You asked, `could we ever lock eyes again?' You've said you're
sick of always being the strong one with nowhere left to breathe.
You seem to be sick of the game I'm not trying to play,
you say you love me and you don't feel the same from me,
and you don't want anything short of everything for without
that something there must be nothing there left to save.
And so you work to erase
and I try to just walk away instead.
And I read your words but
I just can't see inside your head.
Its the third time you died and in the twilight
your ghost dances again to my soul's melody,
touching me softly, singing to me sweetly,
`don't close your eyes, don't sleep and dream.'
And when I listen to you and silence my thinking,
you're dancing to the melody, touching me softly.
And when I listen to you and silence my thinking,
I see you're still the hand considerately killing me.
