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All alone |
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On the floor |
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Next to your twin-bed box-spring and mattress |
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The door Is ajar |
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From afar |
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You can hear bands practicing |
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And When they dream they all |
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Dream of somebody like you |
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Somebody who takes what they make |
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Twice as seriously as they could ever hope to do |
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And when you dream |
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You dream of a day... |
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When you find something you could love half as much |
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As you love all your little round mirrors |
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See yourself reflected in one, theres a hole in the middle |
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You can't seem to fill |
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Bring them home |
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Watch them go |
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All you know is you hope they'll hurry back |
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And you cry |
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Then you lie your frail body down |
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Like a penny on a railroad track |
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And even if they stay in touch |
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The past stays in the past |
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But every time |
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You crash a little bit harder than the last |
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And every time you crash don't you |
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Wanna find something you could love |
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Half as much as you love all your little round mirrors |
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See yourself reflected in one |
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There's a hole in the middle you can't seem to fill |
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A shooting star is |
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A little piece of |
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Cosmic debris desperately wanting to fall to earth |
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It doesn't get too far |
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It's not a real star |
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It's hardly even worth footnotes in your memoir |
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Shoulder to shoulder |
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Up on our tip-toes |
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Chewing our fingers |
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And craning our necks |
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Just to see |
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Quite the collection |
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Divide by section |
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It's just a surrogate connection leaving you all alone |
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On the floor next to your twin-bed box-spring and mattress |
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The door Still ajar |
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There you are and now you're coming to stay until |
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You can find someone who will love you as much |
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As you love all your little round mirrors |
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Murdering your time in cold blood |
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There's a hole in the middle you can't seem to fill |
