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Dashboard Confessional




Альбом Dashboard Confessional


The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most (20.03.2001)
20.03.2001
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. . .



So this is odd, 
the painful realization that has all gone wrong. 
And nobody cares at all, 
and nobody cares at all. 

So you buried all your lover's clothes 
and burned the letters lover wrote, 
but it doesn't make it any better. 
Does it make it any better? 
And the plaster dented from your fist 
in the hall where you had your first kiss 
reminds you that the memories will fade. 

So this is strange, 
our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance 
where nobody leads at all, 
where nobody leads at all. 

And the picture frames are facing down 
and the ringing from this empty sound 
is deafening and keeping you from sleep. 
And breathing is a foreign task 
and thinking's just too much to ask 
and you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.

This is incredible. 
Starving, insatiable, 
yes, this is love for the first time. 
Well you'd like to think that you were invincible. 
Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time? 

. . .



I'm missing your bed
I never sleep
Avoiding the spots where we'd have to speak,
And this bottle of beast
Is taking me home

[1.]
I'm cuddling close
To blankets and sheets
But you're not alone, and you're not discreet
Make sure I know who's taking you home.

I'm reading your note over again
There's not a word that I comprehend,
Except when you signed it
"I will love you always and forever."

[2.]
Well As for now I'm gonna hear the saddest songs
And sit alone and wonder
How you're making out
But as for me, I wish that I were anywhere with anyone
Making out.

I'm missing your laugh
How did it break?
And when did your eyes begin to look fake?
I hope you're as happy as you 're pretending.

[1.]
I am alone
In my defeat I wish I knew you were safely at home

I'm missing your bed
I never sleep
Avoiding the spots where we'd have speak, and
This bottle of beast is taking me home.

[2.]

Your hair, it's everywhere.
Screaming infidelities
And taking its wear.

. . .



I heard about your trip. 
I heard about your souvenirs. 
I heard about the cool breeze, in the cool nights
And the cool guys that you spent them with. 
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you. 
I guess I should have heard of them from you.

Don't you see, don't you see, that the charade is over? 
And all the "Best Deceptions" and "Clever Cover Story" awards go to you. 
So kiss me hard 'cause this will be the last time that I let you. 
You will be back someday 
And this awkward kiss that tells of other people's lips 
Will be of service to keeping you away.

I heard about your regrets. 
I heard that you were feeling sorry. 
I heard from someone that you wish you could set things right between us. 
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you. 
I guess I should have heard of them from you.

I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers
I'll be all right when my hands get warm. 
Ignoring the phone, I'd rather say nothing. 
I'd rather you'd never heard my voice. 
Too late to be gracious and you do not warrant long good-byes. 

. . .



This ruined puzzle is beige with the pieces all face down so the placing goes
slowly. 
The pictures of anything other than it's meant to be. 
But the hours they creep, the patterns repeat. 
Don't be concerned, you know I'll be fine on my own. 
I never said "Don't go."

I've written a note. 
It's pressed between pages that you've marked to find your way back. 
It says: "Does he ever get the girl?" 
But what if the pages stay pressed, the chapters unfinished
The stories too dull to unfold? 
Does he ever get the girl?

This basement's a coffin, I'm buried alive. 
I'll die in here just to be safe. 
I'll die in here just to be safe. 
'Cause you're gone I get nothing and you're off with barely a sigh. 
I never said "Good-bye."

I've written a note, it's pressed between pages that you've marked to find your
way back.
It says: "Does he ever get the girl?" 
But I've hidden a note, it's pressed between pages that you'll read if your so
inclined
"Does he ever get the girl?" 
But the hours they creep, the patterns repeat. 
Don't be concerned, you know I'll be fine on my own. 
I never said "Don't go."


. . .



This is where I say I've had enough 
and no one should ever feel the way that I feel now. 
A walking open wound, 
a trophy display of bruises 
and I don't believe that I'm getting any better. 

Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring 
and I'm thinking awful things 
and I'm pretty sure that few would notice. 
And this apartment
is starving for an argument. 
Anything at all to break the silence. 

Wandering the house 
like I've never wanted out 
and this is about as social as I get now. 
And I'm throwing away the letters that I am writing you
'cause they would never do, 
I would never do. 

So don't be a liar, 
don't say that "everything's working" 
when everything's broken. 
And you smile like a saint 
but you curse like a sailor 

. . .



Consider the odds, 
consider the obvious. 
The martyr is meaningless, 
the campaign has died. 
In the planning stages and the fallen faces 
are the singular proof that it was ever alive. 

This purchased rebellion has been outdated, 
denounced and rescinded and left to die championless. 
I begged you not to go. 
I begged you, I pleaded. 
Claimed you as my only hope 
and watched the floor as you retreated.

Hope has sprung a perfect dive 
a perfect day, a perfect lie. 
A slowly crafted monologue conceding your defeat. 

Does it comfort you to know you fought the good fight? 
Basking in your victory, 
hollow and alone 
to boast your bitter bragging rights to anyone who'll listen. 

. . .



Which of the bold faced lies will we use? 
I hope that you're happy, you really deserve it, 
this will be the best for us both in the end. 

But your taste still lingers on my lips like I just placed them upon yours 
and I starve for you. 
But this new diet's liquid 
and dulling to the senses. 
And it's crude but it will do. 

Which of the standard lines will we use? 
I've been meaning to call you. I've just been so busy. 
We'll catch up soon. 

. . .



So quiet
another wasted night,
the television steals the conversation
exhale,
another wasted breath,
again it goes unnoticed.

Please tell me you're just feeling tired
cause if it's more than that I feel that I might break
out of touch, out of time.
Please send me anything but signals that are mixed
cause I can't read your rolling eyes
out of touch, are we out of time?

Close lipped
another goodnight kiss
is robbed of all it's passion,
your grip
another time, is slack
it leaves me feeling empty.

I'll wait until tomorrow
maybe you'll feel better then
maybe we'll be better then
so what's another day
when I can't bear these nights of thoughts 
of going on without you
this mood of yours is temporary
it seems worth the wait
to see your smile again
out of the corner of your eye

. . .



Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself, 
and covered with a perfect shell, 
such a charming beautiful exterior.

This is one time
that you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone or anyone at all. 
And the grave that you refuse to leave 
the refuge that you've built to flee
the places you have come to fear the most. 

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself, 
and hidden in the public eye. 
Such a stellar monument to loneliness. 
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes 

. . .



Walking away. 
It's not the same as running. 
Is it to you know that you've run in this ground. 
And you say take this. 
This medicine is just what you deserve. 
Swallow, choke, and die. 

And this bitter pill is leaving you 
with such an angry mouth. 
One that's void of all discretion 
such an awful tearing sound. 
With it's measure only equal by the power of my stare 
glaring over you and over you this feeling of despair 
is never wearing out.

It's wearing off 
and it's leaving you with such a heavy heart 
and a head to match. 
The bottle is waiting
the cap is twisted begging to be used 

. . .


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