The book you bought me resting on an antique shelf,
I left it over summer just to be myself,
But I still tried to find the face to let me in.
The questions for confessions left me trying to explain,
Like I was grabbing sand, fingers trickled grain,
But the words I sought were still there on the ground,
So the truth of it was scattered all around.
If I could save it for another day,
Then I might make it all be okay
I’ll find a way.
I’ll find a way.
Pressed into a corner, pushing back to grace
A piece of my decision with a hole in space,
And suspect of all I thought I’d never feel.
And I was feeling tired when you came to me
A convalescent effort just to hear and see
As a shadow mixed desire and regret
To remind me of what I’d like to forget.
If I could save it for another day,
Then I might make it all be okay
I’ll find a way.
I’ll find a way.