Burn Your Calanders

high hopes of leaving and taking back what they stole from us
what they stole from me
high hopes of screaming chained to a chair to confess what this means

and we won't forget what it means to have try and we can't forget what it feels like on your side
30 some odd boxes, 12 pages to go all of which I hope to spend alone
wait for this to come down how we want it to
take a breath and believe that this is coming true

and I can't wait forever for you to realise what I've known all along
these two hands control your life but we can't find

and we won't fill the pages with thoughts of eyes that are too good for a second glance

these days are marked with the brightest of nights
flags and pictures that memorize
for one time to come around and we find we got it right