You ever really wonder how sand
wound up on the beach?

(I dont mean actually scientifically, but generally) 

like it was some happy turn of chance
or some random coincidence
and no amount of words could describe it
not even in a best-selling textbook of science

cus it’s a thing of un-known beauty
like a colored painting or poetry
like autumn leaves or a maple tree
and every time I think of em'
I think of when you loved me

(I’ll get over it, I always do
there’s a hundred girls out there
that are better than you)

Question: Do I ever think about you?
Answer: No, I don’t have the time
I got too many brain cells to kill
too many veins left to unwind
cus I’m all knotted and twisted

From when I go, to when I leave
I leave no feelings left after me

Nothing left for your broom to sweep

Just air-dust where my body used to be