I could tell you my problems
I could sing you a song
To tell the tales of woe
all night long
I could cut out my chest
and give you my heart
I could wipe away the blood
so you could tell them apart
I could show you the scars
of my own words
or my flaws
I could show you my dead birds
I could disgorge all my thoughts
I could draw you a table
and explain to you my sky
I could do all these things, but you'd never be able
To see
Why
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
I could tell you my problems
I could sing you a song
To tell the tales of woe
all night long
I could cut out my chest
and give you my heart
I could wipe away the blood
so you could tell them apart
I could show you the scars
of my own words
or my flaws
I could show you my dead birds
I could disgorge all my thoughts
I could draw you a table
and explain to you my sky
I could do all these things, but you'd never be able
To see
Why
