Too Many Locks, Not Enough Keys.

As If He Was Beating Me To The Punch, His Words Living Forever, While I Was Left Speechless, No Rebuttal, No Words Left To Say.

It Was Like Those Songs I'd Heard As A Child, Each So Familiar, And All Mine. When I Got Older And Realized The Words Were Sad, The Stories Tragic, It Didn't Make Me Love Them Any Less. By Then They Were Already Part Of Me, Woven Into My Conciousness & Memory

I Was Actually Pretty Miserable In High School. I Couldn't Wait For It To Be Over. And When It Finally Was, I Remember Sitting At Graduation With All These Classmates Getting Nostalgic And Emotional Already And All I Could Think Was, "get Me Out Of Here. I Never Want To See You People Again." So It's Ironic That I Spend Half My Day Putting Myself Back There By Choice [while Writing].

It Sounded Stupid, But Of Course Everything Does When You're Just Getting The Bare Bones Facts, Only The Basics.

Donneven, Bettaquit And Mmmhmmmm