You slam the door in anger, in frustration you mutter my name.
You pound your fist against the wall, I cringe and feel your pain.
My words dry in my mouth, a word against you I dare not speak.
My body shys away from you, I feel my knees getting weak.
You vent your fury in a whirling rage, leaving devastation in its wake.
Your words leaving gashes across my face, carrying on not realizing your mistakes.

Love is not orchestrated,
It's a live session
Full of raw hope
And risky notes
Where mistakes are made
And harmonies
Can fall short
But the music
Is all the sweeter
Because of it.

We're all still teenagers writing about love
Like *** can save
Dropping coins into a fat, pink piggy bank
With a hole in the bottom

Merely a bad investment,
All your sense is rolling off the table
On to the ***** bedroom floor
Where you lend love in hopes of incurring interest

I think there is a connection
Between the tides and me
Sometimes high, sometimes low
Sometimes running, sometimes slow,
And most of all
Sometimes violent and sometimes refusing to flow.

I sometimes feel a bit lost. You know, the wandering feeling? I get lost, I get found, but somehow, never kept.