I haven't left the house in a hundred days
I saw you peek through the door
pry it open some more
you said it's been a hundred years since we last spoke
you can feel for my pulse
if it proves I'm not a ghost
most nights I try not to drink myself to sleep
convince the clock I still need more time to think
but every sip sip sip's another tick tick tick
and I'm not done yet, I've half a bottle left
and we can stay out late and hope to god it's okay
and we can stay out late and hope to god it's okay
and we can fall and still land on our feet we're okay
and we can stay out late and hope to god it's okay
I still tell myself
that I can tell the difference
rid the night of the dark, strip the light from the day
rid the night of the dark, strip the light from the day
but right here right now I know
I should just let it go
so tonight I dim off the lights and look up and
draw dumb pictures on the ceiling
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