Getting Over What You Did To Me

Being Good Felt Like A Heavy Coat, So I Took It Off.

We Dropped Our Troubles Into The Lap Of The Storyteller, And They Turned Into Someone Else's.

We Start Out As Little Bits Of Disconnected Dust.

The Thousands Small Birds Of January In Their Smooth Soaring Cloud Finding The Trees.

Later Our Dreams Begin Catching Fire Around The Edges, They Burn Like Paper, We Wake With Our Hands Full Of Ash.