7 acessos
It scares me to speak my mind
It might sound self-absorbed
I don't say half of what I think
I wonder what I'm thinkin' for
I'm smelling dead flowers
Listening to the walls again
I'm drinking from a leaky faucet
And writing with this dried up pen
Wish I still had my imaginary friend
And who needs to listen, well
What do I have to sell
Everyone's just waitin' for their own turn
Kind of like show and tell
I'm smelling dead flowers
Listening to the walls again
I'm drinking from a leaky faucet
And writing with this dried up pen
Wish I still had my imaginary friend
Someone to listen
Someone to laugh
Someone to cry at the right times
I'm smelling dead flowers
Listening to the walls again
I'm drinking from a leaky faucet
And writing with this dried up pen
Wish I still had my imaginary friend
I'm smelling dead flowers
Listening to the walls again
I'm drinking from a leaky faucet
And writing with this dried up pen
Wish I still had my imaginary friend
And I would call him up
But I don't remember his name...