Sunday Papers

The night was talking at 5: AM,
 To loosen up the morning,
 I was walking to meet a friend,
 But didn't know where I was going,
 Cuz I miss you;
 Sunday Papers are on display,
 Don't think that I'll be reading,
 Cuz one of these pages says your name,
 With out any room for feeling,
 Cuz I miss you;
 Maybe I'm wrong,
 and this worlds not coming to a sudden end;
 For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,
 It comes down to this, and all that we missed;
 For all that we said, For all the roads led,
 Now to the end, So much left to mend;
 The rising ring of a morning sun,
 A new day for the living,
 Looking back from it's end,
 Shadows shifting meanings,
 Cuz I, I miss you;
 Maybe I lied,
 when I yelled about something,
 that seemed like something then;
 For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,
 It comes down to this, and all that we missed;
 For all that we said, for all the roads led,
 Now to the end, So much left to mend;
 If I could check the box, At the lost and found,
 If I could find a note, Crumpled on the ground,
 If I could get a message, On my machine,
 Just to let me know, You're leaving me;
 For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,
 It comes down to this, and all that we missed;
 For all that we said, for all the roads led,
 Now to the end, There's so much left;
 For all that we knew, for all we've seen through,
 It comes down to this, and all that we missed;
 For all that we said, for all the roads led,
 Now to the end, So much left to mend;
 So much left to mend