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The Color and Sound
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Gone
It left a note inside my head
The parts of you we loved are dead
And while I'll sit beside your bed
You my friends are gone
With all that we grew to expect
We blurred the lines of self respect
The runors preach of our neglect
To proce the point we're wrong
The worst part of living through a disaster
Is waiting around until it happens again
It seems the worst part of being stuck with an answer
Is knowing not to ask the question again
You grabbed my wrist, you said to me
We're twenty-six and all I see
Are shells of who I thought we'd be
Now that you are gone
We took some time, we sit out
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We brushed it off but still this doubt
Keeps echoing without the sound
Reminding me I'm wrong
The worst part of living through a disaster
Is waiting around until it happens again
It seems the worst part of being stuck with an answer
Is knowing not to ask the question again
I'm sick of doing enough to just get comfortable
I want to be vulnerable
I want to be miserable
I want to not let the light in, despite the habit I've been in
Of talking about the time that's on my mind
I'm buried here six feet beneath my lack of confidence
With your crooked smile still next to me asking 'that's all there is?'
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