Ia??m not a master of what I survey To death and disaster I am a slave But I am the author of the words that I say But why do I bother; ita??s all trash
Well, I?m talking to myself not you so don?t get mad ?Cause I need a friend who won't talk back And he is letting me finally see some sense And I know
can't let go of her now Just don't tell her I would die If I let her slip away Let her think I'm resigned Like those drying clothes just hang onto the
