Little bit awkward
As we sit here in silence
When everything
Before us
Used to be nothing but violence
We'd argue and yell
Before an argument even started
Choosing words like ammo
Handing over trophies to
The biggest 'broken hearted'
We'd shoot phrases
With precision
True Marksmen who could
Think without making decisions
A game of fools
Mending love
With wrong tools
Like artists with no talent
Until our love went silent.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
Little bit awkward
As we sit here in silence
When everything
Before us
Used to be nothing but violence
We'd argue and yell
Before an argument even started
Choosing words like ammo
Handing over trophies to
The biggest 'broken hearted'
We'd shoot phrases
With precision
True Marksmen who could
Think without making decisions
A game of fools
Mending love
With wrong tools
Like artists with no talent
Until our love went silent.
