Sycamore

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