Wasted Words

There are days when sorrow seems never-ending,

Like the countless roads upon which I've driven

The price of attachment in pursuit of dreams

That I so often can't seem to remember

Yet there are days when beauty cannot be contained

It even crawls out from under ordinary things

A foreigner,

No place to go

Holding on,

Making the most,

Of what little time I have

All the wasted words I said,

In all the cities that I left,

The last act of our precious play,

Must not close with regret

I will not leave wishing I had done things differently

The moments I treasure are seldom the ones

That I planned for

And if I knew where pain hid,

I might still let it go,

So when the audience has run toward the latest drift,

It will be my time to face the life that I have set,

A foreigner in my own home,

Holding on,

No place to go

All the wasted words I said,

In all the cities that I left,

The last act of our precious play,

Must not close with regret (regret)

All the wasted words

Some days the line between peace and pain

Seems more like a blur,

But I know with certainty,

I can't leave wishing,

I cannot leave

I can't leave wishing,

I'd done things differently

All the wasted words I said,

In all the cities that I left,

The last act of our precious play,

Must not close with regret (regret)

All the wasted,

Wasted words