Grit In My Shoe

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Should really stop
There's grit in my shoe
But I keep going
Stops me thinking of you
That smile in your eyes
And the way that you talk
The flow of your hair
When you walk

I'm speckled like a thrush
From the spray and the dirt
Kicked up by traffic
Through to my shirt
I croak like a raven
But I can't come through
With the words
I wrote for you

I hear myself speaking
I wish I was dead
Far too many things
I should have said
To you instead
To you
That I suspect you were expecting me to

Think I've walked it off
Best I return
It's all gone countryside
Feeling my legs burn
Through yellow farm fields
And over old sunken roads
Zip up my jacket
And keep out the cold

I hear myself speaking
I wish I was dead
Far too many things
I should have said
To you instead
To you
That I suspect you were expecting me to

I hear myself speaking
I wish I was dead
Far too many things
I should have said
To you instead
To you
That I suspect you were expecting me to

Should really stop
There's grit in my shoe

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