Beggars can't be choosers, my mother always
said
Practice what you preach, she had drilled into my head
Through all the things she's taught me, through everything
I've learned
I still played with fire, and got severly burned
The ticking on the clock seems to go slower & slower
still
All this empty time, that I don't know how to kill
You're still on my mind, through the day & through the
night
I still played with a dog, who I knew would bite
Learn from your mistakes, I can still hear her speak
& even though I've tried.. You still make me
weak
I try to stay away, it's for my own good
But I never seem to do all the things I
should..
-Original Poem
