I was more than just a coward

I was handsome too

I felt nothing when your flood came down

Holding fines that made me wonder if the lights were wrong

With my hands that never touched no ground

When your talent is in numbers

Of the many times you’re gone

I could lie I don’t care about forgiving

But sometimes it’s just roses dying too young

As I’m fencing up the hours

In the fields of red

While you think I’m on a loveless straight

In the letters from the lovers in a land gone wrong

Explanations always written late

When your talent curse the framing

Of the crying you heard sung

I could lie I don’t care about what’s missing

But sometimes it’s just roses dying too young

Your train of thoughts is always passing here

With its falling paint, and its broken gears

It’s the damn revelation blues when you see the path

And you know you won’t be the last,

Oh lord…

I was more than just a terror

I was crying too

But you showed me in the gusts between

That a wind is sometimes broken and its flying path

Has no meaning nor a ghost within

When your talent is in hiding

That your feeling is always wrong

I always want to bring you something

But sometimes it’s just roses dying too young.