In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
Ain't it getting a little late for your roundabout ways
I've worn the prints from my hands
Drips become drops, and drops become stains
If you don't clean 'em up, clean 'em up right away
In the living room corner thinking, oh Lord
It's been over seventeen months
And now I'm grazing the doorknob, tasting lost meals on
The tip of her, the tip of her tongue
Thinking, honey, I've changed
It just ain't apparent
The sidewalk is watching, hidden under stale leaves that
Tear with each sigh of the wind
You were never one to blindly believe
In anything, in anyone but me
And it's a hell of a shame
That you had to bear it
You'd come running out, running out, without your mother's scars in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, without your Southern scent in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, without your sullen brow in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, only to miss me, dear, mmhmm
Say what you want
Maybe tact's overrated
I've worn the prints from my hands
Drips become drops, and drops become stains
If you don't clean 'em up, clean 'em up right away
In the living room corner thinking, oh Lord
It's been over seventeen months
And now I'm grazing the doorknob, tasting lost meals on
The tip of her, the tip of her tongue
Thinking, honey, I've changed
It just ain't apparent
The sidewalk is watching, hidden under stale leaves that
Tear with each sigh of the wind
You were never one to blindly believe
In anything, in anyone but me
And it's a hell of a shame
That you had to bear it
You'd come running out, running out, without your mother's scars in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, without your Southern scent in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, without your sullen brow in my dreams
You'd come running out, running out, only to miss me, dear, mmhmm
Say what you want
Maybe tact's overrated
Lyrics submitted by username72
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