Warning Sign

I work up to write you a letter to tell you everything To tell you everything But I sent it to the back of my head as a warning sign As a warning sign I've been thinking over would I ever want it any other way? If it's truth that you're hungover, what's the value in the truth then anyway?   Who am I to say that about your mother? You're such a precious thing, and why feel so sore? And what's sticking to the back of your head is the caked up sand of many million years Everything I think I thought it cuts a corner ties a knot for two And my mind is always changing, and what's changing changes what I think is true   We're calling out a number  Is it three-six-five? We're counting out the ways I feel alive    We're painting a pretty picture We're calling this a friend