The Collection
No Maps of the Past
When I look out the window, I only see my reflection
No memory crescendos, no past-year possessions
Where did all of our time go?
Like a ladder with no bottom
And each rung passing below:
I’ve already forgot them

How did I love you the first time we realized that we both did?
And all of the canyons in my mind were suddenly crossed upon your bridges
How did I used to hold you before you knew that you needed it?
If everything always feels new, then what if nothing is?

I’m trying to find my way back to where we started
My tired mind holds no maps of the past
If you are the wine, then I’m the headache you part with
Leaving us blind to why we ever poured the glass

When the rain comes tomorrow, and the sun peeks through small cracks
Then I’ll see you’re an echo of a sound I can’t get back
Where did all of our time go? What is it that we don’t know we’re missing?
There is no hope in photos if I can’t remember the feelings within them and

I’m trying to find my way back to where we started
My tired mind holds no maps of the past
If you are the wine, then I’m the headache you part with
Leaving us blind to why we ever poured the glass
Oh, the saints go marching out with their faces full of doubt
That we meant the promises
Well, I can’t remember if we did

I’m trying to find my way back to where we started
My tired mind holds no maps of the past
If you are the wine, then I’m the headache you part with
Leaving us blind to why we ever poured the glass

Darling, why did we ever pour the glass?