The Loneliest Living Thing
I have been at a crossroad for years
Struggling past a multitude of fears
And as weary as I might get
I still can’t say without fret
That I am the loneliest living thing.
Flowers wither and die
But before then they live a melancholy life
They crumble underneath tiny little feet
Bees steal their nectar for something good to eat
So, if I were to profess
That I was the loneliest living thing
Flowers would gladly confess
That I lie about nearly everything
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