I let you go,
as if you were a thorn on my rose...

I laughed but a moment,
And cried inside all the more...

Remember this day,
remember it at best...

Stuck in this skin,
this skin is me...

The sweet caring wind blows my way,
but somehow i always frighten it away...

'It might be our last day', they mockingly say,
not believing the words they were just so quick to...

The music goes on,
while everything else slips away...

As the knife goes through my chest,
I lose all memories of the past...

The moon has gone away
to spare the spotlight on my grave...