For everything in one's life
just becomes too much...

They started off as pretty pictures
flowers, trees you and me...

That Sunday
it came...

I hate the fact I'm sad
I always thought I'd never give in...

Every year she plants a rose for you
every year she cries too...

I touch the keys
lightly at first...

I watch with a steady gaze
shadows upon the wall...

Screams pierce the night
ripping me from my sleep...

With each kiss
of ice...

Crimson tears, from your wrists
drip down to the page...

One last touch
one last hold...

Missing you
not knowing you...