Notebook

The notebook stopped filling on a mid-March morning
It sat and gathered dust until today

And I saw and I heard
And I could not say a single word
Well, it's slow but my lips are
Starting to feel less gray

And it's not the same seat I wrote from beforehand
No, I don't believe I'll ever see that chair again

But there's something to be said
For speaking your mind outside your head
And I think I like this throne better anyway



Credits
Writer(s): Beck Wells
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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