|
My words ran away from me |
|
Now I'm lost and they're out at sea |
|
Sailing away |
|
They come and go, like the breeze |
|
Whisper sweet, burn like disease |
|
They change with the day |
|
And I seem to say |
|
All the wrong things on the right day |
|
And I seem to do |
|
All the wrong things on the right cue |
|
At least most of the time |
|
My words took me down the wrong track |
|
And now I want to take it back |
|
So I'll run away |
|
If only I could be free |
|
Of the plague that my words seem to be |
|
I'd thank the day |
|
For I seem to say |
|
All the wrong things on the right day |
|
And I seem to do |
|
All the wrong things on the right cue |
|
At least most of the time |
|
And life can be |
|
Such a give or take |
|
Some laugh while they're dying |
|
Some cry when they wake |
|
But there are some words |
|
That I could never do without |
|
That paint pictures on polished walls |
|
And dance away with doubt |
|
My words came back to me |
|
They stayed awhile, we had some tea |
|
While time whiled away |
|
I said, 'please be kind and please don't go' |
|
They said, 'we'll try, but you never know' |
|
Depends on the day |
|
And I seem to say |
|
All the wrong things on the right day |
|
And I seem to do |
|
All the wrong things on the right cue |
|
At least most of the time |
