even the leaves turn their back on me. from green to red. i'm in my bed on hallow's eve. it was a summer ago when i first drove you home. you asked me, "are we at the bottom or the top of the earth?" but i've been crossing people off this list of mine for the better half of my life. i'm here and i hate it. there's four years i've wasted. there's nothing to write about and there's no one to sing for. but kelly's coming over and i've made my bed, hoping that maybe tonight i'll have to make it again. feeling less like a puzzle piece, and more like a boat out to sea. so we're flying high tonight, but i don't think that i could get lower than you in my bed. but i've been notching numbers with a sharpened knife for the darker times in my life. and fitting in is something i can't do when you're a world away from me. the summer was real and i tried to make it stay, but the harder you try, it seems, the faster things change.
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