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


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