Do you love me, can you tell me
Is it real, and is it fated
Or are we just constipated?
Do you need me, will you tell me
What you feel about anything
Growing in you like the Spring
Do you hate me, can you tell me
If words heal or only hurt
Just don’t stand there so inert
I’m walking through the desert
Looking for a flower to bring
To tell you it’s not too late
It’s never too late when it’s fated.
No comments:
Post a Comment