Smoke from your exhaust pipe tumbles out
to melt the early morning frost that can't come back.
A slammed door and a snail smoke later.
I'm still picking up just who I am.
My life's been a forgone conclusion.
An end so long rejected.
Actions are for dead pursuits.
And as for now that's all I get,
a chance to to haunt the dead ends.
What's silent in the father.
Speaks in the son.
I'll take my promises as I can.
A burning love affair with the clock.
A chance to grow out of these weak eyes.
A chance to grow out of this doubt.
I just never thought to be so bold,
and I forgot that I could care.
And I forgot that you could care.