Wasted Words

There are days when sorrow seems never-ending, Like the countless roads upon which I've driven The price of attachment in pursuit of dreams That I so often can't seem to remember Yet there are days when beauty cannot be contained It even crawls out f

Can you tell me, tell me, friend, just exactly where I've been? Is that so much to ask? I'll pay you back no matter what the task. You seem really sure 'bout something I don't know, take that load off, looks like chest's about to go. Your wasted word