As the water starts to fill up, I've started thinking again.
Where my thoughts start to go, you can't write with a pen.
I remember all those parts, all those words that you sent.
I remember that feeling that I almost couldn't comprehend.
It wasn't love, it wasn't like, I'm not your friend don't pretend.
It's gotten slightly to the point where it's pushing on one side.
It's not before, it's no longer just an exchange of words.
When I heard a couple words stones dropped from the sky and where they land, on my shoulders, on my head.
I've been weighed down again.
It's not hate, it's not fate, it's something Shakespearean.
I didn't write, it's by a completely different author.
By the end you'll notice the words that you said were meant for a complete different other.
