Hey pretty girl,
what makes your brow rise?
Is it a love, a laugh
or an unruly comprise?

What do you long for
if everything is at your feet?
Who do you ache for if perfection 
is something you so easily meet?

When do you stop to smell
the roses if you grow them in your hand?
Why does matter what happened when
there's always another man?

What is life like 
where the grass is always green?
To have perfect hair and a smile
and nobody's ever mean?

When is the sky dark if
you light up the world?
How do you appreciate 
anything, well pretty girl?

Sorrow is a gift,
so many take for granted.
Flowers are brighter when in 
the dirt they are planted.

The bottom isn't so bad when
I look up at you.
For true fire and passion,
life is something I'm glad I go through.