| My flesh is burning, but my heart is cold. I can't start over, I feel too old. My mind is a waste, and my face is baren. I'm all alone, and I'm far past carin' I'll die this way, or fhat I'm sure. Because I'll never recieve a love that's pure. Another day goes by, another dream goes too. Because I could never find it in me to be honest about my feelings towards you! If I could, I'd start all over I'd tell you everything. So I wouldn't be dying alone in this pile of clover, Unable to hear the nightengale sing. |
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