Sycamore

And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts

And you don’t have to

You don't have to be alone

You slid back in the seat

Rolled the window down

And you fell asleep

In the absence of sound

And I still dream about the headlights

And the closed garage door

It’s why I don’t sleep right anymore

I don’t sleep right anymore

I don’t sleep anymore

And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts

And you don’t have to

You don't have to be alone

Heavy weighed the rope

That dragged me down

No saving grace

How sweet the sound

Every day I saved your seat

And the soul you used to know was me

Too torn up to even speak

From a mix of guilt and apathy

Paper thin, fragile beings aren’t we? Aren't we?

Liquor by the windowsill

I see right through but I don’t feel

I don’t feel right anymore

I don’t sleep anymore

And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts

And you don’t have to

You don't have to be alone

Heavy weighed the rope

That dragged me down

No saving grace

How sweet the sound

I thought you knew

I always wanted to stay

But it’s so cold all alone

I always wanted to be

All that you wanted from me

I thought you knew

I always wanted to stay

But it’s so cold all alone

I always wanted to be buried under the sycamore tree

Down the street

You stayed home from school that day

That was the last time I saw your face

You stayed home from school that day

No one could ever take your place

It was the first time I had hurt that much

And the last time you rode the bus

And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts

And you don’t have to

You don't have to be alone

Heavy weighed the rope

That dragged me down

No saving grace

How sweet the sound