| I was more than just a coward
|
| I was hencing too
|
| I felt nothing when your flood came down
|
| Holding fines that made me wonder
|
| If the last lou wrong
|
| With my hands they never touched no ground
|
| When you telling this and numbers
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| Of them many times you go
|
| I could lie I don’t give up forgiving
|
| But sometimes it’s just roses
|
| Dying to young
|
| And you fencing up the alleys
|
| In a fields of red
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| Why you think I’m on a loveless stray…
|
| In the land of strum of lovers
|
| In the land gone wrong
|
| Explanations so it’s written late
|
| When you telling curse deframing
|
| All the crying you aren’t so
|
| I could lie I don’t get by what’s missing
|
| But sometimes it’s just roses
|
| Dying to young
|
| Well you train of thoughts
|
| Always passing here
|
| When it’s falling day
|
| And it’s broken gears
|
| It’s the damn revelation blues
|
| When you see the path
|
| And you know you won’t be the last
|
| Oh Lord
|
| Oh Lord
|
| I was more than just a terror…
|
| I was crying too
|
| But you showed me in the gusts between
|
| That a wind is sometimes broken
|
| And it’s flying path
|
| That’s no meaning, nothing goes with it
|
| When you telling this and hiding
|
| Now you feeling’s always wrong
|
| And I always want to bring you something
|
| But sometimes it’s just roses
|
| Dying to young
|
| When you telling this and hiding
|
| Now you feeling’s always wrong
|
| And I always want to bring you something
|
| But sometimes they’re just roses
|
| Dying to young |