You walked to the beach with stones in your pockets
You walked into the night with all your flashlights buried
You wear no picture inside your locket
At the best times, you always look worried
I don't think, don't think, don't think this will work out.
I don't think, don't think, don't think anything.
Maybe in a million years I could trust you
Maybe in a million years I wouldn't mind the rust you
keep on the soles of your shoes.
Always going, going, going,
going nowhere.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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