Tile Floors 300 Miles was just far enough to never live up to what won't fix itself. Its not enough, no its never enough to give and to take. To sit and to wait. When it all just feels the same. Has it started to feel like home? So afraid of calling it so. Seldom doses of security and minor growth. Has started to feel lonesome? So afraid of admitting it as so. All bottled up, and disguised so no one could ever know. I'd blame myself for always wanting more, but first impressions are nothing behind closed doors. Whats more to expect from your face to the floorboard, than the color of the tile floor. The only thing that you deserve is a mirror with a hand to hold. A perfect reflection of your perception of God and love. If time is all it takes I'd rip the hands from every clock just to never feel a thing. Perfect paintings still fall down, Some things just don't work out. Perfect paintings still fall down and some things just fall apart. If time is all it takes I'd rip the hands from every clock to never feel a thing. Prides a crutch. grief's not enough. Give up the ghost; or just grow up. Miles away; Empty apartment and beds. My wasted effort on things just not meant to mend. The perfect color of the tile floor. We'd always assume the worst. The perfect color of the tile floor. The perfect shade of black and gray. The perfect picture of you and him. Ceilings There's a hell paved of wants and desires, and a sea of misery waiting to conspire. Waves of men with no direction in a constant limbo of endless repetition. Ships built to be sent out to sea, but meant to sit and rot. Love just doesn't exist when its all just a matter of who's better convinced. Nothings left waiting for us. The greatest war we have to face, is when love and lust share the same face. Happening all in a matter of time, when we're clinched to whatever gets us by. "There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of a clock. people so tired. mutilated either by love or no love." Love is dead. We watched it kill itself as it hung from our living room ceiling fan. Love is dead and its never coming back. April March of '93. I've relived every moment as if it was a dream. When you packed up everything, but a family portrait. Son i'm sorry, but I can't say. There's just a few things that'll never change. Son I'm sorry, but everything gets better. Everything gets better, just you wait and see. It must have rained the next nine weeks. It's not may fault you don't have the guts for the things you cant change. It's not my fault there's nothing left to say. You said, you said: Somethings just never change. Just as somethings were never meant to save. You said, you said: Go at your own pace. No one ever hopes or plans for a broken home. What have I ever learned from picture perfect families with broken frames. Somethings you can't swallow, and some things you can't shake, but families so bigger than any picture we could ever take. Picture perfect broken frames falling apart right down the siems Rosebuds I'm starting to think that every day is the same. That I missed the plot, and all the scenes came and changed. What happened to having nothing to prove for every night i've spent all alone in my room? Making war on my own self worth. At a loss that no one can afford. I'm starting to believe that all joy is measured under the weight of regret. Stored and Strung from every single person I have ever met. (What if) I crashed my car off the side of a bridge to feel whats like to be alive; not just to live. Spent the night at the bottom of a lake, collecting dust for just one hour of sleep. I have a knack for slipping through the cracks in the floor. Just as soon as my problems won't face themselves anymore. My own routine. My own selfish encore. I've picked apart everything that meant something to me. Picked apart, picked apart. I've picked apart everything that meant something to me. Memories of home, of all my friends, and family. Every day is the same. No rose buds, Just early graves. Our Fragile Intakes Dust and bones. Days and nights, and years on the ropes. Sunrise, sunset. It's never enough. The things that we're taught. The lives that we live. The deaths that we're dealt. It's all coming undone. The walls are rotting from the inside. Some arrangement of life. My discord, My strife. This is our life. Lived from the inside of a cloudy window. When forever is never enough. When we've waste all our time looking for better ways out. Chills looking for the next spine to crawl up. Chokes looking for the next neck to hold up. A new cancer under the breath of grace, in our own grand scheme of all bound things. I want pride, and I want beauty under no remorse. Under no such stake. I'm so afraid of the things I can't change. As in the way lighting steals the life from a tree. Long before is ever ready to leave. I hope everyone forgets my name. Take me back to when alone was all we were. Back when every day wasn't a blessing we didn't deserve.