My next mistake
J.Coleman/R.Oliver
Sleeping on my father's chest,
infant hopes within my breast,
if I knew then what I know now,
would I have lived on anyhow?
Anyhow?
Years of dreams up in the sky
close at heart passing me by
always never always soon
blindly forging my own doom,
my own doom.
Sweet despair
Years to learn
Passions smolder
Hopes just burn
too late to drown
too late to sleep
(too late to cut a decade's strings)
too late to cut a dead man's strings
Thought at once that I was free
of the shackles that were me,
till my boots began to quake
fearing for my next mistake.
My next mistake.
My last mistake.
My ... take.