The Silent Type

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Laura and the Storm

3:07

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I feel bound to new sounds, a battleground of guitar strings
Creation's exhausting and I'm sick of wanting my mark over everything
We had another place, another time, another mind to pick at
We played hop scotch on rooftops, Monday morning setbacks
I died, a rich man, no plans, always waiting for it
cold coffee, climax or Xanax, finding all these new ways to forget
Find your center, allow the censors, sometimes it's better not to say anything
Bookends, or ink pens, or false friends of old dogs and diamond rings

I'm having trouble now with finding what to say
Ink and watercolors tend to bleed right through the page
I'm getting too good at coming up with filler lines
Sometimes I'd rather just be the silent type

Out of tune and out of time and out of sync, there are chinks in my armor
Burning fuel, breaking rules, I keep taking it farther
Another chance, last glance at new plans, a final hour
Was it worth the caused hurt?
You left dirt where there should have been flowers
Beat, bruised, raw and bloody
Bandaid words when you say that you love me
Radio static & silence are scary, I knew I just had to say something
Empty memories, hangover envy, lost nights keep getting me in trouble
I guess I'm a mess, bruised knees and a bag of sore muscles

I'm having trouble now with finding what to say
Ink and watercolors tend to bleed right through the page
I'm getting too good at coming up with filler lines
Sometimes I'd rather just be the silent type

Haven't you waited long enough? Aren't you sick of looking up?
Haven't you waited long enough? Aren't you sick of looking up?

I'm having trouble now with finding what to say
Ink and watercolors tend to bleed right through the page
I'm getting too good at coming up with filler lines
Sometimes I'd rather just be the silent type.

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