We don’t talk about it
It’s something we don’t do
Is there any more to do?
You can’t bribe the door
On your way to the sky,
Why are we always stuck?
Get a book for every situation,
Go everywhere with no invitation,
And maybe there’s a way out.
Even so, we’re not who we used to be
We’re just ghosts standing in place,
Trying to remember if we used to feel
Wherever I go, you bring me home-
Somehow I always seem to run out of road
And, you… you always bring me home
I wonder am I still the only one can love me,
But there’s nothing I can do about that now.
It’s like New York, baby, we’re so jacked up
And Brooklyn saw me empty in church pews,
I’ve been praying ever since New York
So, God, tell me something I can never know.
I’m selfish, I know, I told you I can be selfish
I hope you can see the shape that I’m in-
Promises so broken no apology could fix them-
Comfortable silence is only nice when it’s comfortable.
Why can’t I ever be the one who brings on the break?
Because here in broken-promise-silence, we don’t talk.
Thanks for reading.