Sycamore کے بول

And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts And you don’t have to You don't have to be alone You slid back in the seat Rolled the window down And you fell asleep In the absence of sound And I still dream about the headlights And the closed garage door It’s why I don’t sleep right anymore I don’t sleep right anymore I don’t sleep anymore And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts And you don’t have to You don't have to be alone Heavy weighed the rope That dragged me down No saving grace How sweet the sound Every day I saved your seat And the soul you used to know was me Too torn up to even speak From a mix of guilt and apathy Paper thin, fragile beings aren’t we? Aren't we? Liquor by the windowsill I see right through but I don’t feel I don’t feel right anymore I don’t sleep anymore And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts And you don’t have to You don't have to be alone Heavy weighed the rope That dragged me down No saving grace How sweet the sound I thought you knew I always wanted to stay But it’s so cold all alone I always wanted to be All that you wanted from me I thought you knew I always wanted to stay But it’s so cold all alone I always wanted to be buried under the sycamore tree Down the street You stayed home from school that day That was the last time I saw your face You stayed home from school that day No one could ever take your place It was the first time I had hurt that much And the last time you rode the bus And I sold my soul, so I could talk to ghosts And you don’t have to You don't have to be alone Heavy weighed the rope That dragged me down No saving grace How sweet the sound