So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?
It's driven me before
And it seems to be the way that everyone else gets around
But lately I'm beginning to find that
When I drive myself my light is found
As the red fades from your wrinkled dress,
A picture of the people you've impressed,
Hangs on a wall around here;
Vision starts to crawl when I'm near.
And the evening waits,
While you get caught up to your own mistakes,
Made up of different lines,
I wouldn't want to keep in my mind