Sweet petals follow my thirst, come die in the path I'm taking, to bloom the colors of May and to burn in crimson and gold.
In the gushing of his dreams, he strummed the breeze, calming the dark nights from the loud whispers of pain.
Her giggles and her scent are still in his memories, but is he the only one who can't forget?
My fingers wrapped around her thorns, I bleed, but she is dying in my grasp.
Have you ever been into a new relationship but haven't moved on with the previous one?
Bereaving of the death of love, embraced by the cold winters of the absence, to beg and to have failed.
I count the lines on your palm, and I found nothing but me holding you.