Gazebo

Alone on a train
You're running towards
(Or maybe away from)
A reason to wake each morning
Your thoughts again
Drift to us and what we have (or haven't) become
Your head shakes and you think, "Never again"

It's true what they say about fools who leave too soon
They don't ever really move on

You put your hand in your bag
And pull out the Carver book you grabbed
Before leaving
It's then you realize, "In this, too, she was right"
You make an excuse
You make up a lie
You sell what's left of your soul
Like the best friend you just sold
To sleep easy at night

It's true what they say about fools who speak too soon
They don't ever really know
What they're getting into
(Or out of)

You're on your way
The taste of blood from a bitten tongue
You're in need of some new teeth that won't cave in