Cinnamon Bread Ryan Beatty

[Verse 1]
Infinite Jest and cinnamon bread
Why don't you make yourself at home?
When you open up, you close me in
And cut me to the bone
Close as a kiss on the lip
To the southern tip
Until you’re red in the face
Now you've got nothing to say
Now you've got nothing to say
Spring, summer, fall
You were standing tall
Winning all of your basketball games

[Verse 2]
You galloped on the piano keys
Like a Liberace fool
You hummed a little out of tune
And somehow you sounded cool
I can’t lie
May, June, July
I was a good guy
Then you came over that day
Now I've got nothing to say
I must've left open the gate
Now the dog is running away