The make-ups,
And the break-ups,
Just don't seem to matter,
When you're standing in the field,
Holding the ashes of the person you love the most,
Waiting to set them free,
And your stood there thinking,
What could I have said?
What could I have done?
Would anything have changed the way things turned out,
Cause these petty things they just don't matter,
When your holding,
In your hands,
The ashes of the person you forgot to forgive,
And you're thinking,
With tears streaming down your face,
Is why did they leave me here,
Without them,
Yet the thought that stops you in your tracks,
And brings back those tears,
Is why was I angry again?
