There's tea brewing in the kitchen
that may or may not be ready.
I haven't heard that proverbial whistle
yet.
You introduced me to Oolong tea
a few years ago at that cafe downtown.
You drew me a picture of a sad boy
in a collared shirt and unkempt hair.
You said it was me.
I drew you a picture of a butterfly
with a beautiful wing pattern
I said it was you.
You never noticed one of the wings were torn.
You never really knew why I did that,
didn't you?
Well, words are fleeting now, and-
Oh. My tea is ready.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
There's tea brewing in the kitchen
that may or may not be ready.
I haven't heard that proverbial whistle
yet.
You introduced me to Oolong tea
a few years ago at that cafe downtown.
You drew me a picture of a sad boy
in a collared shirt and unkempt hair.
You said it was me.
I drew you a picture of a butterfly
with a beautiful wing pattern
I said it was you.
You never noticed one of the wings were torn.
You never really knew why I did that,
didn't you?
Well, words are fleeting now, and-
Oh. My tea is ready.
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