âToo Little Too Late but we donât say noâŚâ
Why is it too much to feel?
I thought you had always known,
isnât 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 weâre not enough,
half of every truth, a hand to cuff-
Too Little Too Late but we canât say no,
what prospects can you see?
If we both see it cominâ but still donât go,
Itâs not far enough for me;
Too little too late but we canât talk about, the rite of ritual haze
1 on 1; start putting out, dance to dazzle and daze,
Addicted to, know Iâve become, ourselves lost in the maze
of
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
