Maybe it’s not that we don’t want to grow up,
maybe we’re just too scared.
Maybe it’s not that we don’t want to sing our song,
maybe we think there’s no tune
and that music can’t be made from broken chords
Maybe it’s not that we don’t want to love,
maybe we just never understood it.
Maybe we are just too scared to run,
because we’ve heard of how others fell
Maybe we just want to keep saying our versions of maybes
And pretend like there’s not just one life to live
There’s just one life to live
and no time to waste
so let’s bury the seedlings of our doubts and fears
And wait till it grows into the gigantic tree of our dreams
Goodbye to the withered rose of maybes