Wasted Words

There are days when sorrow seems never-ending, 

Like the countless roads upon which I've driven 

The price of attachment in pursuit of dreams 

That I so often can't seem to remember 

Yet there are days when beauty cannot be contained 

It even crawls out from under ordinary things 



A foreigner, 

No place to go 

Holding on, 

Making the most, 

Of what little time I have 



All the wasted words I said, 

In all the cities that I left, 

The last act of our precious play, 

Must not close with regret 



I will not leave wishing I had done things differently 



The moments I treasure are seldom the ones 

That I planned for 

And if I knew where pain hid, 

I might still let it go, 

So when the audience has run toward the latest drift, 

It will be my time to face the life that I have set, 



A foreigner in my own home, 

Holding on, 

No place to go 



All the wasted words I said, 

In all the cities that I left, 

The last act of our precious play, 

Must not close with regret (regret) 

All the wasted words 



Some days the line between peace 

And pain seem more like blur, 

But I know with certainty, 

I can't leave wishing, 

I cannot leave 

I can't leave wishing, 

I'd done things differently