in this too, she was right

"song for a blue guitar," red house painters

when everything we felt failed
and some music soft in distant sails
but it don't sound like it did before
then i know i'm left with nothing more
than my own soul
when pretty pictues face back
but your coats aren't
hanging on the rack
and blue water turns to
a place that i can't get to
a place that i can't
in a room all i feel
is the cold that you left
through the air all i see
is your face full of blame
what's left to see
what's there to see

in the room all i feel
is the cold that you left
through the air all i see
is your face full of blame
what's left to see
what's there to see
what's left to see

"gazebo," owen

alone on a train, you're running towards (or maybe away from) a reason to wake each morning.
your thoughts again drift to us and what we have (or haven't) become.
your head shakes and you think, "never again."
it's true what they say about fools who leave too soon --
they don't ever really move on.
you put your hand in you bag.
you pull out the carver book you grabbed before leaving.
it's then you realize, "in this, too, she was right."
you make an excuse.
you make up a lie.
you sell what's left of your soul like the best friend you just sold to sleep easy at night.
it's true what they say about fools who speak too soon --
they don't ever really know what they're getting into (or out of).
you're on your way with the taste of blood from a bitten tongue.
you're in need of some new teeth that won't cave in.