Well there's sand in my book

From writing on the beach

Trying to find a song for you

That the ocean can only reach

And this beach is getting wider

Than my train of thought is long

And each little grain of sand

Is some other asshole poets song

So i'll try to get this right

Before the sunburn says i'm wrong,

Says i'm wrong

I keep on shooting clever guns

That blow up in my face

And what good to say i'm sorry

When time it wont erase

All the times i hit erase

On every word you said to me

And just covered it up

Like dogshit on a pretty city street

Just to not piss off the neighbors

No wonder i cant sleep, i cant sleep

A song without a chorus,

This is my first attempt

Cuz that would really bore us

And the title would go limp

But these words just keep on shooting

Out my pen just like a gun

And i'm aiming at your ears

Trying not to come undone

Cuz you love the smell of gunshots

And the company of one.. no fun

They'll probably say this sucks

But i don't really care

And i used the "gunshot" word

So it wont get on the air

While the rappers do a driveby

And smoke crack then praise the lord

While a white-bread singer songwriter

Has to stand here looking bored

And while i'm at it, i should mention

That all the guns i used in my

Songs were fake...

Not real... plastic..

Fuck... get real... blast it...

I still love you