| I set a fire on the stove
|
| And fed it every word I wrote
|
| I watched my journals turn to smoke
|
| Now all there is is what I spoke
|
| I decided long ago
|
| To make the most of what I know
|
| And worry not of what I don’t
|
| Perfect the art of letting go
|
| 'Cause if I trust in something else
|
| Then I don’t need to trust myself
|
| I’ve learned a lot since I began
|
| But I think I was wiser then
|
| I’ve done too much and not enough
|
| In trying to put you above
|
| I cannot tell if I’m in love
|
| Or whose regard I’m thinking of
|
| If beauty is the only way
|
| To make the nightmares go away
|
| I’ll plant a garden in your brain
|
| And let the roots absorb the pain
|
| I set a fire to my soul
|
| I hope it ate til it was full
|
| I set a fire to my soul
|
| It burned me and it made me whole |