They keep tellin' me across the river,
with poems strewn all on the wooden floor
they keep tellin' me it gets better
for time heals all which burns cold
yet the long, winding, static road
seems to yearn for me to feel the depths
the ebs and the flows, forcing  me to
drink the past & pain like strawberry lemonade
they keep tellin' me it gets better,
but does it?