This Bouquet کے بول

got a garden of songs where i grow all my thoughts wish i could harvest one or two for some small talk i'm always starving for words when you're around nothing on my tongue so much in my ground half the time i got my gaze trained on your motel door fourth door from the end rest of the time my gaze lays like a stain on the carpeted floor if it weren't for my brain i'd go over and make friends too bad about my brain 'cause i'd like to make friends. see the little song bird unable to make a sound even though she follows her words from town to town we both have gardens of songs and maybe its okay that i am speechless because i picked you this bouquet.