You have never seen my best work, but you take comfort that it's there.
You take all of my misgivings, strip them down and lay them bare.
But could you ever write my wrongs in a form and sing along to a verse full of my failure?
Have I failed you?
I know you hate to see me like this, only thinking of my flaws.
I know you hate to see me like this, so I will never give you cause.
But could you ever write my wrongs in a form sing along to a verse full of my failure?
It gets worse here every day, I mark the words that you won't say in the forms of abstracts and one-act plays.
And I keep acting out my part but never giving my full heart to the words and actions that I impart.
And it's the same thing every night, the same old ending I rewrite, different names and faces exed out with blurry lines.
Another lonely night is brought on by the distant light of all these almost friends who say they'll call but in they end they turn to shadows when I need them most they're vacant as the coast on a winter night, I'm staring at the distant lights.
I hope to see you when you get back to me someday...