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Friday, January 20, 2012

Sun In Your Pocket.


tea leaves won’t tell me my future
everything’s dark with the sun in your pocket
I’m scrambling for those second chances
you were always so fondly speaking of
the ones that I’m not granted

I’m so firm in my convictions
You’re so concrete in being indecisive
you told me that my eyes held promise
and I thought that your mouth held promises
sounds that fade into the distance

this was a recipe for disaster
the bitterness is heavy on my tongue

I count the calendar days
carving faces into these long months
letting my fingers trace the skyline
just to pass the time
time that is not my own

this was a recipe for disaster
the bitterness is heavy on my tongue

you’re so blue
if you’d stop being so yellow
that helpless victim mask would wash right off of you

this was a recipe for disaster
but I was too addicted to the taste
this was a recipe for disaster
but I couldn’t turn away

this crystal ball won’t show me my future
but I know it’s not with you

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