Why do we play with fire?
Why do we run our fingers through the flame?
Why do we leave our hand on the stove, although we know it'll cause some pain?
Why do we refuse to hang a light when the streets are dangerous?
Why does it take an accident before the truth gets through to us?
Why should we blaze a trail when the well-worn path seems safe and
so inviting?
Why do we stay with lovers who we know, down deep, just aren't right?
Why would we rather put ourselves through hell, than sleep alone at night?
Fear or love?
Don't say the answer.
Actions speak louder than words.
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