it's august and i can feel the newborn air
whisper of the daybreak where the sun won't wake
wisps of cirrus clouds that i swear show your face
it's august and it's only a baby's breath
but the weeping breeze talks to me in prose
it's a dagger in my throat and i can't cry
whenever i'm alone with you, i can't talk
blood will gush from my tongue, i'll be so abashed
to use my words on you is to slaughter you or
to embarrass myself associating with you
it's august and these boots are too big for me
hoping you'll think i look cool when our gaze meets
the blisters on my heels are a little easy to bear with
it'll be worth it when i finally spark sentences
hoping you know i think you're so fucking cool
it's a bad idea and i'm trying to execute it
an escapee from the guillotine, a runaway culprit
to be your favorite friend to be alone with
lying to myself that you miss me like i do to autumn
lying to myself that you care for me like i do for you
it's august and i'm writing to you again
july's underground and it's one week
closer
i can't wait to see you, i can't wait to hear you,
i can't wait to see you, i can't wait to hear you,
and i can't wait to see you
