| And now I finally see that the further we go
|
| We’re only treading ground that we already know
|
| I could write you a song
|
| Send you a note
|
| Or empty out your trash
|
| And buy a bucket full of diamonds
|
| But even the most beautiful of all roses
|
| Must someday crumble to dust and fade away
|
| It’s certain tragedy
|
| So, it’s on into the lonely nights and all the rest of it
|
| The empty space between me and the sunken walls
|
| And feeling someone’s hand around my neck
|
| Choking away the life that I have left
|
| And I can finally see that the further I go
|
| I’m only treading ground I don’t want to know
|
| I’ll probably hang upside down
|
| From wooden rafters in my home
|
| And look at old photos of you
|
| So, it’s on into the lonely nights and all the rest of it
|
| The empty space between me and the sunken walls
|
| And feeling someone’s hand around my neck
|
| Choking away the life that I have left
|
| I miss the warmth of the summer
|
| When we were on our own
|
| But now it’s winter and my bones are cold
|
| And now I finally see that the further we go
|
| We’re only treading ground that we already know
|
| I could write you a song
|
| Send you a note
|
| Or empty out your trash
|
| And buy a bucket full of diamonds
|
| But even the most beautiful of all roses
|
| Must someday crumble to dust and fade away
|
| It’s certain tragedy |