You'll find me in the garden
pulling up the roots
claiming my boots are the only thing in my life that's grounded
because 7 months ago when you were wasted
blowing smoke out your lungs
telling me you loved me, that that was enough
I should've started running because you hated cigarettes
and you've never been one to believe that love is enough
I thought I was enough
You thought I was tough but I'm as timid as my Sunday school heart
I thought you were a brilliant piece of artwork lover
Lover, I made you a time machine
out of paper mache and paper mached my heart
and handed it to you with my full regards
You're sick of the yardwork I wanna do
I'm sick of picking up your muddy boots but I'd still
shoot myself to the moon as long as you'd follow right behind me
Maybe we should just take up drinking so you can love me
full time instead of the part of time you actually do
and I knew you were a natural disaster the first time I laid my eyes on you
in the back of the bar
ripping me apart like a city
and leaving the crowd to pick up the pieces of my heart
I wish you still loved me when you were sober
because when you're wasted I can taste it
the fallacy in your throat
the lips that feel undone
and you
and how we used to be so right
and how now it's all so wrong
