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I found a letter that said:
"I'm sorry that you were asleep when I wrote these words down,"
You'd think I'd ought to be used to that by now.
But save for a few of those late night episodes,
Missed opportunities, and "I Don't Cares,"
There's not a lot that I feel obliged to share or talk about.
I'll have my brother stop by this Saturday to pick up my things,
Just make sure you're not there.
This may sound bad, don't take it the wrong way
I love you, however, you hold me down.
You're the echoes of my everything,
You're the emptiness the whole world sings at night.
You're the laziness of afternoon,
You're the reason why I burst and why I bloomed
How will I break the news to you?
[repeated]
You're the leaky sink of sentiment,
You're the failed attempts I never could forget.
You're the metaphors I can't create to contemplate this curse that I call love
How will I break the news to you?
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