Sweet, kind and thoughtful.
Those are the words you used to describe me that day,
the day I almost told you too much,
the day I almost broke my own rules again.
I may be those things, but you can tell,
somehow, sense somewhere,
that it's a barely maintained show
I put on for you, and all the rest.
You know, and I know, that I don't belong
in your bed, or in your heart.
Ask the ones who've come before what it's like
to wake up in the middle of the night
and find me sleeping on the floor,
or to have me claw my way out of a heart.
Brought down by hands and hearts and eyes,
hands to break, hearts to bind, and eyes to lie.
You know, and I know, that I don't belong
in your hands, or even on your street.
With my body in your hands I still
won't unfold from my ol' time contortion,
waiting for the dream to end and the bomb to drop.
And you'll spend nights wondering at four in the morning,
while I'm wandering down your empty road with my soul on fire.
I'd love you with all I am, in my fashion,
the way that keeps half of me always away from you.
There are doors that I'll never open for you,
secrets you'll never tear out of my throat,
rooms in my heart walled up and left for those
long after to come and break into.
It's alright though, since you're movin along,
and I'll be movin on too soon, but I guess it's good,
good that we met each other since you've exorcised
one of my ghosts, and I hope that maybe I've helped
in giving you a little bit of hope for all that's left out there.