That same way things always appeared before. Everything lined up so perfectly right in front of me, but just for an instance. Held out within arms length, grazed my finger tips so I could miss it. Only to miss it.
What's just a taste worth when you know it will only invite the craving of more.
Staring at open doors. Choices made so easily when they're not yours. Once you burn all your bridges what will you be left with?
Cling tight to the hope you're not quite sure is still there and think just for an instance that not every effort was in vain.
Still nothing changes when the doubt creeps it's way in and you're left staring at open doors. Choices made so easily when they're not yours. Once you burn all your bridges what will you be left with?
Noone will trust you when they hear you speak when they hear your words mean nothing more than the dust under our feet.
So many "poor me's" when really you're just as guilty. Point the finger again; they put you where you've been. So ironic now you handling advice with such self pity and preservation holding you down.
Staring at open doors. Choices made so easily when they're not yours. Once you burn all your bridges what will you be left with?