you call yourself an acosmist
walking around believing nothing exists
filling window sills with forgotten promises
and burnt out joints
spending every minute high and out of your mind
it's a comforting delusion if nothing disappoints
well, I think you've forgotten the hair I cut last summer
the weeks it took to get you out of a slumber
the nights I spent a room away
brooding over ways to have you stay another day
spending early mornings smoking cancer sticks
sorting the magic in my bag of tricks
see, I have yet to forget the pain I felt against your hip
the countless songs sung together in harmony
the way I fit above your voice, like a symphony
how come it's bitter if I'm better and it's lonely when I'm not
a disease that will surely make me forget her
it isn't something I could be taught
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
you call yourself an acosmist
walking around believing nothing exists
filling window sills with forgotten promises
and burnt out joints
spending every minute high and out of your mind
it's a comforting delusion if nothing disappoints
well, I think you've forgotten the hair I cut last summer
the weeks it took to get you out of a slumber
the nights I spent a room away
brooding over ways to have you stay another day
spending early mornings smoking cancer sticks
sorting the magic in my bag of tricks
see, I have yet to forget the pain I felt against your hip
the countless songs sung together in harmony
the way I fit above your voice, like a symphony
how come it's bitter if I'm better and it's lonely when I'm not
a disease that will surely make me forget her
it isn't something I could be taught
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