Seal this envelope with a heart that's been beaten black, beaten blue, beaten all over again. Don't leave out a single thing, send it off with wings... an anectode to ease the pain that you feel every time that you smile at the mirror.
I won't need anymore memories for the next fifty years, I could still write you love songs. I won't need anymore photographs to remember the color of the clothes you wore that night. Hopefully this won't sound as bad as I'm sure that it is, all results will be lifeless and lead to an excuse, to never try again, to never try at all. Staring up at the ground because (oh) how we tried and (oh) how you lied, but how could that be true?
my heart is gone. my heart is gray.
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