sometimes it's a smell
but most of the time it's a song
I'm not even in love with you but I love you
and I'm not even in pain over you
but it's painful
when I think of your face, your lips, your cold cold heart
It's like we put a lock on that fence
but I can't seem to make it to Paris
to dive to the bottom of that river and find the key to set myself free.
the last memory I have is you eating a stale muffin. I was wearing black. You peddled away. I didn't cry that time.
I don't want that. I want everything before that. Those old plans for the future. California.