Like A Rose

I’ve been drunk and I’ve been dry
I prefer the former ‘cause the latter makes me cry
But it’s all gone with Mama’s sighs
She knows I’m out here every single night

And I loved you like a rose
That’s been picked and is dry as my nose
I should turn you loose I suppose
‘Cause there’s no music left for us…
To compose

And these hands don’t work no more
Some days I feel death coming, coming like a whore
Who has been left outside too long
Never worried ‘bout ever being wrong
Are you ever worried ‘bout ever being wrong?

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