| <Into It. Over It.> page <Twelve Towns> album page |
Augusta, GAFlipping through the pages of our diaryA memoir's worth of messages from you and me Both good and bad advice, recalling should-haves and could-haves A distance from both of our worst enemies On this page, Mississippi John Hurt plays With a hand on your neck and a hand around my waist It causes trouble and I've had it all with these slow-dancing Sundays Some red wine, a summer dress, a pair of hand-rolled cigarettes We're descriptive to keep with descriptions We're convicts to lack of conviction So, skip to the back and read the index Put your trust in the dust sleeves of hardbacks Because it's as fleeting as the feeling of being 18 again I've turned the tables It's your house in Georgia now We're seeming stable despite mistakes that we'd allow Can't blame your past this time around So please don't make a sound because I'm shaking hands with common sense I'm bridging gaps from innocence to versed I'm telling you, we're cursed Flipping through the pages our diary |