Sunday afternoon
I guess it must've been the middle of June
She turned, looked away
Like she has something she could not say
I knew what she thought
And my stomach turned into a knot
She was done with me
And the birds couldn't drown out my misery
But sometimes
You hold on
Sweaty palms
And you can't seem to reach what is yours
Headaches on my mind
It's one more chance that I left behind
It's to be on my own
Dodging the bullets I call my own
I'd trade all my smiles
For the pain of a hungry child
It's for what I don't know
Ghosts of the voices in my bones
But sometimes
You hold on
Sweaty palms
And you can't seem to reach what is yours
Sunday afternoon
I guess it must've been the middle of June
She turned, looked away
Like she has something she could not say
I knew what she thought
And my stomach turned into a knot
She was done with me
And the birds couldn't drown out my misery
But sometimes
You hold on
Sweaty palms
And you can't seem to reach what is yours