morning storys

It's seven in the morning

and everyone is boring

and everyone lies.

I woke your body, dreaming.

The last thing that I said

was still in your head.

I finally found my story 

I left it in the rain

it's not the same

I guess that it never was

and I guess you could say I was wrong

Jesus Christ, you're boring

What do you believe,

is it something you've see

I heard there was a reason

falling out of place

It's on your face

Carving lines into the tree

the family plot is staged

but something changed

I guess that it always did 

and I guess you can say we were kids