I can’t complain about tomorrow. Keep falling back on when tomorrow goes your way. Start with the blame I’ll start to follow. We venture there from where it came in the first place. I can’t complain about the awful things erased. So I’ll collect and compose all your orchestral woes. Opaquely flow through every day. Misled and content at the fact of good byes . You know why they wanna go home. I could walk right on to tomorrow but I would rather keep my sorrows to myself, I pull the shade then I say “I’ve gotta go” with all excuses I made my shut-in case. I can’t complain about the awful things erased.