Blame the fingers that ran 

through her hair, now my head 

has some running to do back in bed

where trees meet the stars on her skin

and expectations beg to dig in



She found me sealed in this jar

preserving and fermenting 

the demons that dwell in the bar

where I said you'd be mine

Now alcohol will sum up the time 

of our life



'Drain the weight from your head'

said a friend, he declared

'Guy maybe she just fell outta care'

I don't care if his lips were sweet.

This seems to be a pattern for me.



Now I force you to go

all alone, and although

you're deserving to be taken back

I just can't act like this means nothing to me

blame my mother for the morals I keep



(but weak)



Smothered to sleep, in the glorious "maybe"...

4am, alone in between these sheets

Is the wine in France as great as you dreamt it 

would be?

Is distance killing you like it's killing me?

At least at 4am the tears feel like home