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