Clouds over the skies,rain pulls at your eyes
But nothing hurts more than little words turned lies
And these smiles that were once so freely drawn
Became a careful masterpiece of embroidery
I wonder if it’s sadness that chose your eyes to haunt
But in the end, it doesn’t matter if you were blinded
Or if you could see
I could sense when you first drew the curtains closed
And ran to hide behind a door
When all you had to say was help and I would’ve ran back
But that call of help was not part of the story
Weaving too soon, this god at the loom
And this is not the story I knew
The ink is too wet and the old lines live uncrossed
Too soon would I rise with all I could carry
And in the end we know we die
So why grow too old when we can fall from the sky
And in the end we’ll hold you close
Tears before smiles, broken before fixed
A night I still remember
Those little lies, you say they weren’t said
But those cruel letters that were wrote
You were the sender