Food For Thought
I'm the grass under your shoes, a blue piece of paper carried away by the wind, heavy machinery, a mix of the good, the bad & everything in between. Emilia, Seventeen, Spastic.
I'm the grass under your shoes, a blue piece of paper carried away by the wind, heavy machinery, a mix of the good, the bad & everything in between. Emilia, Seventeen, Spastic.
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What happens in ifmindshadtoes, STAYS in ifmindshadtoes.
June 09, 2009 @ 5:05 PM
Capisce?
@ 4:57 PM
Ben Gibbard is King. ALL HAIL.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
With a single pillow underneath your single head.
I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need.
Now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free.
And I hope you have more luck with this than me.
You used to think that someone would come along.
And lay beside you in the space that they belong.
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new.
What's the point of holding onto what never gets used?
Other than a sick desire for self abuse.
And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified.
It's like we're in some kind of hurry to say goodbye, to say goodbye, to say goodbye.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
(It's a song about giving up on love after hopelessly trying to search for it, in case you haven't caught on)
Capisce?
@ 4:57 PM
Ben Gibbard is King. ALL HAIL.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
With a single pillow underneath your single head.
I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need.
Now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free.
And I hope you have more luck with this than me.
You used to think that someone would come along.
And lay beside you in the space that they belong.
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new.
What's the point of holding onto what never gets used?
Other than a sick desire for self abuse.
And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified.
It's like we're in some kind of hurry to say goodbye, to say goodbye, to say goodbye.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
(It's a song about giving up on love after hopelessly trying to search for it, in case you haven't caught on)
Labels: lyrics