These late summer nights
I'm six drinks in and falling asleep
Ill [bad word] a chalk line for all to see
I have been told there's no hope
I'm a story for broken hearts
No sign of blessings no signs of light
I'm starting to think i enjoy it
countless hours of feeling nothing and empty
or maybe im still searching for who i am
an endless journey just searching
its hard to pick your self up
when the thoughts in your [bad word] to you like breathing
Its hard to pick your self up
when the light you need is retreating
Ill [bad word] a chalk line for all to see
washed away from spring rains
i hope summer finds me
bury me under the fall leaves
let me burn beneath winter trees.
one day we will figure this out.