Monday, June 2, 2008

we are the gossip committee, leave the truth at the door

For every new girl, there's another fake smile
Each and every week, there's a new style
I can't keep this up, I think i'm gonna be sick
I can't forget her, without her this doesn't mean shit
it's just another car on the road, no trip in store
running on the edge of the beach, fall into the shore
her skin dripping wet with small drips of her regret
and i'm dying in the sun to just forget
but my memory is so much sharper than i thought
and what's in store for me can not be bought
we're all saving our breaths like we're holding our fire
the lungs and guns drawn to the ground
she's so beautiful, she is the image and i am the sound
at the top of my lungs i will whisper her name
and in my slightest of hope, she will do the same

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