You can have it all.
Recovering from being sick. Becoming more sick. Butterscotch candy. Time flies. Empty feeling. Escapist. Things are great. Are they? Mutual fancy. Is it? I really don't know anymore. Even words have lost their truth to my heart. They don't connect somewhere along the way.
Rose red with love blooms not,
if dreams deceased are all you've got
Then dream of me, love for me...
Let your falling petals blossom free.
I wrote that in church on Christmas. It doesn't make sense. Does it? It reminds me of me. Lame. Nonsense. Fleeting.
Rose red with love blooms not,
if dreams deceased are all you've got
Then dream of me, love for me...
Let your falling petals blossom free.
I wrote that in church on Christmas. It doesn't make sense. Does it? It reminds me of me. Lame. Nonsense. Fleeting.