I can't see
and my fingers smell of sin
but not to me.
How was it for you?
Did you think of me, at any point,
did you remember me?
When you pressed your lips against her's
did you remember mine?
When your hands fell across her back
did you remember the curve of mine?
I guess not,
chelsea seems to think not
but chelsea doesn't know much
so answer me.
Were her eyes blue or red?
Were they brown like mine?
Sitting on the couch,
ignoring the scenes that flashed across the tv,
trying not to get caught,
going,
it's the same
it's all the same.
It seems like so long ago
when i sat on your floor
listening to hopeful songs
and played with your hair.
Does she take the time or care
to lace her fingers in and out of your hair
Do her fingers smell like mine?
You never liked it,
the smell of my sins.
Eight to one
shows how deep the love was.
Eight seasons of treatorous seas
on a little sail boat
against the crashing waves
silently passing the days
with hopes of the sun.
And finally reaching the shore,
after a season of clear skies
you decide to go.
"I'm tired of this sail boat"
and all the storms sailed through
didn't matter at the bottom of the sea.
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