The image of you, The thought burns right through. A flaw in an otherwise perfect crime.
It's funny how, The things I care about, Are damaged, But the unimportant things are fine. 14 Herbert Street, Two thousand and ten, I was eighteen. I couldn't keep my fucking story straight. I pushed you all away, But the street lights on Mayne, They still flicker, Even though we're never there to see. I always wanted to call, But I had nothing to say. And you seemed better off, Since you moved away. I can't say I don't miss the company, Of such a better example, Of me. I know I had you all concerned, But I've changed now, I'm better. And I got just what I deserved. Persistence, Respect is a process. Torn between, Another bullshit apology, Or blaming all the shit I said, On a broken self-esteem. Dodge the bourdon, Evade the blame, Or suck it up and just come clean. It'll never be the same again, And all I have to thank is me. Is there anything I can say, To bring back the old days. I've been obsessing over bridges burned. Though it's over it lingers. So tell the others when it works for you, I miss you, And life's a little longer now.
Writer(s): John Joseph Floreani, Kevin John Cross, Jeremy Winchester, Callum Cramp, Andrew James Hallett