Top it up, a white carnation.. I borrow my mother's clutch,. Thinking the grass could be greener, at last,. Now that I'm all grown up.. But expectation and idle'll be the death of me..
Calling it quits. You think this is easy. I swear I hurt. You call in the jury. Call it a catch. Without any strings attached. . Well I'm looking for a soft place to land.