Augusta, GA

[Verse 1]

Flipping through the pages of our diary

A memoir’s worth of messages from you and me

Both good and bad advice, recalling should-haves and could-haves

A distance from both of our worst enemies

[Verse 2]

On this page, Mississippi John Hurt plays

With a hand on your neck and a hand around my waist

It causes trouble and I’ve had it all with these slow-dancing Sundays

Some red wine, a summer dress, a pair of hand-rolled cigarettes

We’re descriptive to keep with descriptions

We’re convicts to lack of conviction

[Verse 3]

So, skip to the back and read the index

Put your trust in the dust sleeves of hardbacks

Because it’s as fleeting as the feeling of being 18 again

I’ve turned the tables

It’s your house in Georgia now

We’re seeming stable despite mistakes that we’d allow

Can’t blame your past this time around

So please don’t make a sound because I’m shaking hands with common sense

I’m bridging gaps from innocence to versed

I’m telling you, we’re cursed

[Outro]

Flipping through the pages our diary