tea and sympathy.
you begin
all your words fall to the floor and break like china cups
and a waitress grabs a broom and tries to sweep them up
I reach for my tea, slowly drink in
cause it's not the way that it has to be
don't trade our love for tea and sympathy
and it's not the way that it has to be
don't trade our love for tea and sympathy
fare thee well
the words, the bag of leaves that fill my head
I could taste the biterness and call the waitress instead
cause she holds the answer, smiles and asks one teaspoon or two
Jars of clay
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