chances are, it’s on the west coast. chances are, it gets you home. so let’s find a reason you’re a wreck when you’re alone…
it’s those warm pacific nights in your favorite summer dress. swimming without words through grace and gestures of regret, like the fox under the hunters gun.
you were the death i couldn’t look away from for twenty something years. what did you do? well, words can’t describe the way your fingers wrapped around his sad, little throat. what did you say? only you’d come back soon, just another of your lies that made me want you more. don’t fuck this up.
so let’s find a reason you’re a wreck when you’re alone. forgot, too young, white lined, black lungs, living for nothing.
first make me understand, i think i’m starting to believe. first make me understand, i think i’m feeling gravity but calling it your voice, mistook identity and chance and called it grace. so make me understand, i think i’m losing hope tonight. so maybe without words it seeped into your bedroom walls, went through your lying teeth with whiskey down your throat. and you know how you are, always the grace of god when you know that i don’t and that i gave that up.