You never get to smell the roses
When you run at a hundred miles an hour
You never get back wasted time
Just like you’ll never have another first car
Clichés
But clichés often ring true
It was me you see
It really wasn’t you
You make me feel ten feet tall
I put you on a pedestal
I waited for you to fall.
And all these contradictions
Are doing my head in
I can’t move forward
I can’t go in reverse
Limbo is what they call it
I think
It’s funny,
All this time in one place
Makes you realize
The roses aren’t that pretty
It’s the thorns that make them pink
