In my own time I'm trying to reach out I know I'll get there soon There's a hole in the earth here And we're walking round the edges You were flaunting all your open wounds I can't express them better than you You have buried childish qualities Friend make sense of me, friend make sense of me I have many destructive qualities Friend make sense of me, friend make sense of me
What we give in love, is essentially what we do not have and, when what we do not have returns to us, there is undoubtedly a regression and at the same time a revelation of the way in which we have failed the person (manque a la personne) in representing his lack.
