It's Sunday, April 19th And I Miss You
Mitch Welling
When you were a child on the farm
You saw him pin her by the weight of his arms
So she left in the night when you were in bed
And took your trust when she left
You're already hurt
I'm scared that if you put your trust in me, I'll make it worse
I'll hurt you
I picked a flower from the stem
And watched it die in my hands
And I screamed, oh my god
I did it again, I'm destroying innocence
So I can't stay
And my heart's too weak to think about the way you use to say
I miss you
I miss you