It's very late and I'm staring at my first guitar
And having doubts about
My paramour
I'm kept awake by the whitest noise,
The frail voice that made me make a choice
I would ignore
I'm reaching for these notes although
It's easier to sing falsetto
Than really strain.
It's easier to hide behind a line
About a troubled mind then
Then to explain
That I am
A cat to your asthma,
And you are
The smoke to my cancer
And I
And i can heal a break by walking on
A shattered limb with
The bravest grin instead of
A tourniquet
But you
You cant clean a wound by wallowing
In words unspoken
Vows now broken
Washing time away.
I know
That i cant stem the flow with fingertips,
The technique wrong,
The pulse too strong,
Im bloodied with my remorse.
But you
You dont leave the scar you scratch at it.
In silent halls
And empty draws
I'll measure out
My loss
My loss
My loss
My loss
I am
A cat to your asthma
And you were
The smoke to my cancer
And you were
The care to my violence
But I was
The sound to your silence.
Writer(s): Julia Ruzicka, Benjamin Russell Erring Dawson, Frank Turner, Cameron David Dean
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