Rushing through a lot
Someday you fear
you'll pine to savor
every rough spot
It doesn't seem nice
and it doesn't seem good
and who the hell are you
to tell me what I should?
And still that
doesn't get me anywhere
I'd love a new routine
or just to sit and blindly stare
but all I've got's this sighing
heaving up forever trying
No comments:
Post a Comment