Hadn't it all been forgotten
Between the brooding the bruising and the torn skin tissue
What did it even feel like to ride a bike up a hill to deliver soup to the boy with chills
your boy
That boy who you thought nobody else could be
Insist to lay in the arms of others in a state of apathy
is it really coming back, I will get hurt and trapped
All of these notions rushing in a quick return to help, heal but worst of all heal
Knowing what love is, when to say it, if to say it is all a different thing
It's a forgotten flavor long lost in an ocean numbed by nicotine and liquor
A warm cinnamon bun hot from the oven, tender and brittle perhaps maybe crumbing
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
Hadn't it all been forgotten
Between the brooding the bruising and the torn skin tissue
What did it even feel like to ride a bike up a hill to deliver soup to the boy with chills
your boy
That boy who you thought nobody else could be
Insist to lay in the arms of others in a state of apathy
is it really coming back, I will get hurt and trapped
All of these notions rushing in a quick return to help, heal but worst of all heal
Knowing what love is, when to say it, if to say it is all a different thing
It's a forgotten flavor long lost in an ocean numbed by nicotine and liquor
A warm cinnamon bun hot from the oven, tender and brittle perhaps maybe crumbing
