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The Fugitive
David J
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Gun did the talking, conversation wasn't sweet
He took the ferry to a foreign land
She fired her mouth off, always had the last word
But not this time, this time was different
Puts down deep thoughts in blue on sheets of Barcelona
Only yesterday, it seems longer
He reads between his own lines, the spaces speaking volumes
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Eating out of a tin, his heart is in his mouth
Home is any map, east, west, north, or south
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The headline screams from the newspaper
Motel murder mystery, girl found dead
Flashback the replay, bullets in slow motion
The bruises still show from his last bad dream
Drags himself up, smooths down his tidal wave
Climbs into photographs of stillness
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Running into the rain, taxis everywhere
Falling into the lights, it's so peaceful there
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