Lost In The Vines

I don’t have a lot of time, but when I do,
I think of all the nights I lost on you:
the ones that took forever just to pass,
only to leave me lost again.
I don’t know what’s wrong, but that it’s true:
I could never love someone like you.
Though it hurts as bad as if I did,
knowing that you let me down again.


I’m tangled up in roses and in thorns;
these words are petals scattered in the wind:
pale and fragile, spoken yet unheard,
leaving no impression where they land.


I don’t know where you are, and losing you
feels something like forgetting what I knew
I should never completely let go,
only to fail myself again.
I don’t have a lot of time, but if I did,
I would search the sky, the sea, the land,
if only for a trace of where you went,
a whisper of where you’ve been.


I’m tangled up in roses and in thorns;
I never know what I’m supposed to say.
An empty, fragile shell of who you were
haunts my dreams each night, and every day
I’m wishing you were here, waiting to see
the wind lifting these brambles off of me,
leaving just the roses and the leaves:
then I can finally be free.


I don’t have a lot of time, but when I do,
I remember losing myself with you,
and though those days are hidden in the past,
sometimes I think that I am lost again.