| She’s imperfect, but she tries
|
| She is good, but she lies
|
| She is hard on herself
|
| She is broken and won’t ask for help
|
| She is messy, but she’s kind
|
| She is lonely most of the time
|
| She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
|
| She is gone, but she used to be mine
|
| It’s not simple to say
|
| That most days, I don’t recognize me
|
| That these shoes, and this apron
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| That place, and its patrons
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| Have taken more than I gave them
|
| It’s not easy to know
|
| I’m not anything like I used to be, although it’s true
|
| I was never attention’s sweet center
|
| But I still remember that girl
|
| She’s imperfect, but she tries
|
| She is good, but she lies
|
| She is hard on herself
|
| She is broken and won’t ask for help
|
| She is messy, but she’s kind
|
| She is lonely most of the time
|
| She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
|
| She is gone, but she used to be mine
|
| She is messy, but she’s kind
|
| She is lonely most of the time
|
| She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
|
| She is gone, but she used to be mine |