Weve been down this road before a thousand times
And still well pound this concrete into gravel
And this gravel into dust
I know somethings got to give but you know it wont be me
I dont think I care quite enough to fix this
Its over now but the crying honey
If I could take it all back (you know I would)
I would make it all up (I wish I could)
But I cant find the spark to build the fire
Its been a year of only winter
These grapes have all gone sour
And left acid on the vine
Am I bitter for the sorrow that I have caused?
Or is it for the sorrow that is mine?