They're all trying to sell you something..
Meanwhile i sell myself
The simple things are nostalgic memories
They are pictures on my shelf
Pleasure it is a season
Oh but the seasons, they do change
Its all there in black and white
But each time I'm shocked...its strange...
Every year in chapters
Every day by verse
The screen plays already written
But there's no time to rehearse
I walk blind some and sometimes i see
The wind blows where it whilst
No telling where ill be..
Im the first to say I'm rotten
Im the first to say I'm not
Can some one finaly catch up with time
Then tell me when I'm caught
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