I built these walls to climb. Left it to you to find holes in silent conversations (gaps as wide as constellations). Figured we'd find that place to keep that secret safe (finger-crossed imaginations of what's considered moderation). Outside it's almost two, inside the thoughts of you slip from pseudo-jubiliation into vocalized frustration. Thought I'd escaped that bind, then we crashed at that stop sign.
Stars navigating my destruction. Doors locked (ignoring interruptions). Pass out wishing it was nothing. I instigated my destruction.
We try on false convictions on a weekend.
Wake up with fleeting conflicts on a weekend.
Pepper periods
Bet on what I know best: you'd be there with the rest facing me across the table with eyes cast needy and unable. Whisper all that you want. They think there's nothing wrong. We're well-practiced in enjoying glances we seem to be avoiding. I tried to say goodbye. That's when he waved that five. "One more isn't gonna hurt you." I'd beg to differ, but it won't do. You're giving me a ride. Funny it's you that lied.
I'm asking, "please pull over." Miss me doubled over or talking in my sleep? I miss my passenger seat.
We're set in the subjunctive, now it's everything we say, wishing that there was something that could make this go away. Let's keep concentrating on my past offense and it will make the future tense.
credits
from Every Second Home,
released July 21, 2012
Brendan Bond--Trumpet, Bells, and Vocals
Gabriel Conde-Drums
Jeff Crozier--Guitar and Vocals
Jacob Hamrick--Guitar and Vocals
Henry Widener--Bass and Vocals
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