B.O.A.F.
Vacant lots and tired hands defined all that I couldn't understand
By the time I learned to handle it you were gone
All I could do is grieve with the tire marks on my lawn
By the time I learned to handle it you were gone
All I could do is grieve with the tire marks on my lawn
Credits
Writer(s): Anna Gentile
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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