Sunday Paper

The night was talking at 5:AM,

To loosen up the morning,

I was walking to meet a friend,

But didn't know where I was going,

Cuz I miss you;

Sunday Papers are on display,

Don't think that I'll be reading,

Cuz one of these pages says your name,

With out any room for feeling,

Cuz I miss you;

Maybe I'm wrong,

and this worlds not coming to a sudden end;

For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,

It comes down to this, and all that we missed;

For all that we said, For all the roads led,

Now to the end, So much left to mend;

The rising ring of a morning sun,

A new day for the living,

Looking back from it's end,

Shadows shifting meanings,

Cuz I, I miss you;

Maybe I lied,

when I yelled about something,

that seemed like something then;

For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,

It comes down to this, and all that we missed;

For all that we said, for all the roads led,

Now to the end, So much left to mend;

If I could check the box, At the lost and found,

If I could find a note, Crumpled on the ground,

If I could get a message, On my machine,

Just to let me know, You're leaving me;

For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,

It comes down to this, and all that we missed;

For all that we said, for all the roads led,

Now to the end, There's so much left;

For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,

It comes down to this, and all that we missed;

For all that we said, for all the roads led,

Now to the end, So much left to mend;

So much left to mend