Dead Lines

Sat down this evening, with a bottle of red, a pen, and my guitar
 To write, a love song about you and all that I think that you are
 And outside, the moon comes up, and the cold and the quiet creep in
 So I write, word after word in clichés, the ultimate sin
 They won't hold back the winter
 These metaphors
 They're riddled with holes
 And they've all been said before
 Deadlines
 Roll across this page
 Saying nothing about how I feel about you
 Tired words
 From a weary mind
 I gotta give you something more than this
 You're Sunday mornings, your breakfast in bed
 Always the first one to enter my head
 You're every love song, you're like the spring
 You're like all the sweet things
 They won't hold back the seasons
 These metaphors
 They're riddled with holes and they've all been said before
 Deadlines
 Roll across this page
 Saying nothing about how I feel about you
 Tired words
 From a weary mind
 I gotta give you something more than this
 More than deadlines
 More than deadlines
 They won't hold back the winter
 These metaphors
 They're riddled with holes
 And they've all been said before
 Deadlines
 Roll across this page
 Saying nothing about how I feel about you
 Tired words
 From a weary mind
 I gotta give you something more than this
 More than deadlines