has anyone ever told you that your words are stone and your lies are gold each one said makes everyone open their arms, to wait for you to hold like saying you'd be there at seven its shorter for me waiting to go to heaven then waiting in the chair looking at the clock waiting for the numbers on the wall to hit the number i need, alittle tick and alittle tock time's running out and my coffee runs cold time's not only running out the stories i had to tell you seem told seems like you never came because you already knew everything i had to say. could i make something off the top of my head? or maybe sit ontop of my lonely bed and make something up to keep you coming so good you'd turn my story into a song and you to come out, humming.