I’ve only come back to help you unwind,
not burn my paper fingers in your ashtray,
(now I’m laughing at the dirt on your mind)
But to place my swollen lips on yours? dismay.
“Too Little Too Late but we don’t say no…”
Why is it too much to feel?
I thought you had always known,
isn’t what scares you what makes it real?
Away, solemnly, while I now go,
a fleeting dispositions appeal;
too little too late; I still say so
as were crushed beneath the wheel.
not meant to be, when we’re not enough,
half of every truth, a hand to cuff-
Too Little Too Late but we can’t say no,
what prospects can you see?
If we both see it comin’ but still don’t go,
It’s not far enough for me;
Too little too late but we can’t talk about, the rite of ritual haze
1 on 1; start putting out, dance to dazzle and daze,
Addicted to, know I’ve become, ourselves lost in the maze
Burnt paper fingers,carpeted hallways,as
our heavy heads still tour the room-
tie my right hand to the ride,
too little too late, but never too soon
found poetry from too little too late, the song and prose sorce by emily haines