| Five years ago, you pressed your hand,
|
| Into a brand new sidewalk.
|
| It’s well-worn now, and though some chime,
|
| Yours is the only print there.
|
| You might not have meant to, but
|
| It’s done you again, take it out.
|
| You’re shy about what fortune lent you.
|
| Is that what this is about?
|
| Smile while you can, 'cause when they find,
|
| You’re not a muse, not really.
|
| They’ll rob you blind, of what they gave.
|
| Yes, you gave them that power.
|
| You might not have meant to, but,
|
| It’s time you can’t take it back.
|
| Cry about where fame sent you, oh,
|
| Without a plan of attack.
|
| Five years ago, I warned you, dear,
|
| As a concerned admirer.
|
| You never knew, you never heard.
|
| The veil was still in place.
|
| Think how you hate to listen.
|
| That would not be you.
|
| Lifting the veil to kiss you,
|
| Next to a friend who sang war. |