Brocilo Restoration - forensic archaeology

Didn't matter the plans themselves
Planning made sense
I won't forget chiseling through
The tunnel spanning the length
Of 7 years from the time we lost
Our apartment
To the summer in our new house
Digging up carpet

Now it's fall here at latitude 45
Longitude -122
Mouth full of hops
Wood burning leaves turning
Men stand around popped hoods
We move around furniture

The day we'll remember forever
Didn't start memorable
Pinched lip on own tooth
A super morning
Turned to a stupor
Outside of the phone booth
Last one we'll see for a while

Anyway, mornings were never mine
Life spent turning occasionally great
To forever fine
Oh well, whatever, nevermind

Send everybody home
The jig is up, the dig is done
Send everybody home
Because the money has dried up
And we don't know what's inside them

My daughter is sleeping, i sit down beside her
Somewhere in the valley lights splatter against the divider
My son is awake, afraid of the night
I comfort and kiss him though what i really want to say is
"You're right"
Lean into the feeling
A spider is weaving round the popcorn of the ceiling
Some of these days we're barely alive
Others we're sure the future is
On our side

I don't believe that people don't change
Think we're changing all of the time
In little imperceptible ways
That we're at great cost trying to align

When they find our remains
And put all the pieces back into place
How will they explain the leftover bits
Will they, like we are keep attempting to
Make them fit

Written by:
Dragan Brocilo

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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