1. |
Don't Wait
05:32
|
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|
Don't wait for me
I can see your face shining
through my window
and it's haunting me
|
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2. |
Haunt the Home
03:40
|
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|
To go home
To pass the old school ground
It’s been torn down
Ghosts of dreams and theatre queens
Still haunt the town
To go home
To want that nothing’s changed
To know you’re wrong
But you still crave the memories
Of your first loves last days
Northwestern streets in my head
Making love in your bed
Things that could have been
God, I wish I was there
Dirty feet and short hair
I made the same mistakes all over, over again.
And love can build homes
And so too it can break
And you loved these brittle bones
Though all they did was take
And break
To go home
To know you can’t go back
But in your head
Building castles with a love
That for sometime has been dead
Northwestern streets in my head
Making love in your bed
Things that should have been
God, I wish I was there
Dirty feet and short hair
I made the same mistakes all over, over again
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3. |
Liar
04:20
|
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|
Called me a liar
Well, you sang it to me
So with the truth dear
I’ll set your free
Those words of false hope
I spoon fed you
If I didn’t know I was lying, are they untrue?
Maybe I’ve considered
Keeping you on my shelf
Taking you down from time to time
Scrubbing you clean
Kept all to myself
You loved me and so I lied
You love me and so and so
And so and so…
Why is it I see your face
When she asks me where my home is
Why is it I cannot replace
All these dreams that have turned to ashes
Called me a liar
Well, I’ve got news for you
You’re in love with a liar
Maybe you always knew
At tiny tables
We sit and stare
And I still see my past and my future in there
I’m falling and failing, my present is bare
You loved me and so I lied
You love me and so and so
And so and so…
Why is it I see your face
When she asks me where my home is
Why is it I cannot replace
All these dreams that have turned to ashes
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Does anyone have the answer
They must, they must
My bed is on fire
And I’m still a liar
Thank god your dad’s a frequent flier
Either way we travel I’m still a liar
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Camp New London, Connecticut
We clap, we sing, we yell. Alternative poppy rock music after having spent some time with the 90s.
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