These are the thoughts that I wrotenIn the book that I took from your drawer.nThe syllables are strained and hard to explainnbut I promise my intentions are purennAnd its raining outside which is fine cause I remembernWe’d huddle just to keep each other warmnAnd I know it wasn’t me but its all that I seenbut the meaning might be hard to absorbnyea the meaning might be hard to absorbnnWhy, I knew you wouldnI said “why, why, the words don’t come to me like they should”nnThese city streets breathe and I wish I could leavenBut they’re beggin for the right to be heardnAnd I try to scream, “yea this is all a dreamnAnd this situation seems so absurd”nn“This doesn’t seem to fit”, I say as I sitnwith my head in my hands on the curbnand this doesn’t make sense, which makes no differencenbecause I never get what I should deservenno I never get what I should deservennWhy, I knew you wouldnI said “Why, why, the words don’t come to me like they should”nnCause I am predictable, closed-mindednYou were my sanity now I can’t find itnI am predictablennWhy, I knew you wouldnI said “Why, why, the words don’t come to me like they should”nnThese are the thoughts that I wrotenin the book that I took from your drawer.