Bore

For all the songs never written and all the love ignored. Finding the me as I swing through the trees is finally becoming a bore. I don't know why it's always it's right or it's wrong, I'm usually not so black and white. But I cut through the gray as I write you today and hopefully come out alright.

Do you remember a time when we were not quite as old, without a care in the world? We'd reach for the sky and believe what we're told and vie for the love of a girl. But now we're much older and it's all gone to hell, I can see by the look in your eyes, you're not well. And all of the songs that I wrote way back then have slipped through the cracks and I've nothing to send...