Next time you point a finger
I'll point you to the mirror
And I don't know, I don't know what he's after But he's so beautiful, he's such a beautiful disaster. And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter. Would it be beautiful, or just a beautiful disaster… He's soft to the touch, but frayed at the ends he breaks. He's never enough, and still he's more than I can take. Why be so complicated and different, because writing well is a disaster, a beautiful disaster.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário