There are belt-bucklescrapes on the backsof guitars that are better than the songitself —…
Sometimes it seemsI forget my name;When in fact, I have just forgotten Who I am.
When I hold your handin my heart,do you want totake it back?
When I was in fourth grade, my teacher, Mrs. Potts, put a limit on how many questions I could ask.
Where does Love Live?
I sit through many empty nightsstaring; broken keys spell no wordsI wonder,does a…
