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- 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

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