These hands want to miss you;
they're feeling old, warn, and washed up.
They don't want to look for you anymore.
The misconnections for getting warm.
There's syncopation in my toes.
I feel the rhythm getting slowed.
Waiting for patience to knock us both in new directions.
Can we go as far as the roads are
willing to take us to catch the wrong bus.
To make us learn our lessons upside down
and find each other on the worst side of town.
Be keeping you warm and taking you home, at least I thought.
When it's all talk of some wishy-washy lovers,
it's got me breathing this air that's got my tongue.
The fear of it all is how this mirror makes its money.
Taking pennies from the water and banks on lucky stars.
No more leaning on these walls.
They've crumbled far to much.
I've crumbled on my own.
And of course, these winds can't keep me up.
I've been kicked out twice this month.
I'm the bottom that's breaking off. (Oh, Come on!).
I'm curious about the way this city worries
about me listening to the calls I wish she'd make me.
These buildings swarm and keep me cozy, but will things work?
My piggy bank tells me I'm broke.
But, I'm still working on my steps.
Coincidentally I've fallen flat on my face.
It's okay.
Newer faith in mistakes.
And they won't go away.
And they won't go away.

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