I thought I knewI thought I had it plannedI thought that maybe one thing is going to planI was wrongYou came along and everything changedYou made me feel hot facedBlushing with every smileEvery laughEvery everythingBut I thought I knewI thought I planned and I didn'tI didn't
I Threw the Supermarket Flowers From the Windowsill
I have secrets that I don't want to sharebut maybe I should share themshout them from the rooftopsscream them aloudsend them flying through the sky as paper planesbecause I know you will see themyou will hear and I know that you will be able to feel the pain that I feelyou will find them on the ground and read thembecause I'm going to give all of my secrets awayand I will tell you that they are truebut I know you wont believe meyou wont look into my eyes and see the painyou will just laugh and look awayyou don't see my painyou don't listen and you don't knowbut to be honest, I think that's my fault
I Threw the Supermarket Flowers From the Windowsill
My memories start with youSeeing you smile in the sunUs selling lemonade to neighbours outsideUs swimming and playing games in the poolUs not knowing what we are doing but instead of thinking we just have funUs walking to schoolUs playing pokémon on your DSYou sitting there on the climbing frame at school with your friends and me sat alone trying not to cry and be even more like a loser
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,And feathered pampas-grass rides into the windLike aged warriors westward, tragic, thinnedOf half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushesMy heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,And will be born again,--but ah, to seeBeauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each goneTo his dwelling;
I could snatch a day out of the late autumnAnd set it trembling like forgotten springs,There would be sharp blue skies with new leaves shiningAnd flying shadows cast by flying wings.I could take the heavy wheel of the world and break it,But we sit brooding while the ashes fall,Cowering over an old fire that dwindles,Waiting for nothing at all.