Some nights when I'm looking you right in the eyes, I can hear glass break in the backseat of my mind
Thinking, "this is it"
And when the engine finally starts I can't feel my own skin except the rambling in my veins knowing that somethings about to snap and I don't know what that means but you remind me of a pigeon trapped underground with no way to get out except straight through and maybe that's why they say you shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight when you can't see the exit wounds
I know you're draining like a tub full of sand but you pulled your own plug and now I'm stuck sweeping up the floor