The writing's easy, it's the living that is sometimes difficult.
I guess the only time most people think about injustice is when it happens to them.
they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it al is
There still might be a place for us somewhere.
they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things
I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.