coming late to the game

sick of wondering why nothing's the same

got a frog in my throat

and I can't help but sing the wrong note

now it's just you and me

and the humming glow of the TV

and that 20K tone

seems to say that I might as well have just stayed at home

 

I've got no right to cry over you

and I've got no reason to worry about what you do

every time that I stumble

I take a deep breath, count to ten

but no matter

the little green monster's run loose once again

 

multiply us by four

what we had isn't there anymore

i lean in for a clue

should've known I'd get lost

this charade's nothing new

 

you'll never leave, keep returning

back to the heart you'd wrung dry

this tired flame keeps on burning

constructing a future you seem to imply

 

coming late to the game

on the rule book I'm placing the blame

wouldn't be a surprise

if there's nothing more than what's in front

of your eyes

©2019 jon fuller

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