Sandboxing - Hi, How Are You?

Smallest longwood invitation
The same indirect compensation for the sidewalk prominence
In which vigilance has cracked a dozen eggs, convinced none of them will fry
And ever since the scenery might as well be footsteps that catch pavement unevenly
A second glance, stumbling advance towards our mothers, father’s apparent success
Wondering if due diligence could ever cash out into a paycheck
With enough leverage to make a sufficient apology to the IRS
With all the mail I get, I figure this hypothetical check should at least cover their postage
And their unrelenting intention that would be flattering
If not for the “PAST DUE” rather than the customary
“Hi, how are you?”
"PAST DUE" rather than the customary "Hi, how are you?"
There is no time
Please don’t turn around
There is no time
Please don’t turn
My fingers buried underneath
With a crow’s feet meets roots like recycled shoestring pencil sharpener essentials
That had me worried occasionally
Until I catch apathy as if it were a common cold to keep me warm
Selfishness in perfect form
Selfishness and all the rest and I can only ask to do no harm
And wish everyone else to oblige
A sheep that doesn’t see fleece is a shepherd by any means
That can be accompanied by satisfaction left largely unachieved
Words sufficient to concede
Fingertips half-covered by winter sleeves
Or the newest skyline made by make believe
And forever kept
Made by make believe
And forever kept
There is no time
Please don’t turn around
There is no time
Please don’t turn around
There is no time
Please don't turn around
There is no time
Please don't turn

Written by:
Hank Byerly, Jimmy Conroy

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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