In this garden that I have grown around you, I’m surrounded by blood and toil and sweat.
Tears of love, laughter trickle on without you
I was waiting inside my home to call you, when you called me I lost all interest.
How can love be so fickle, so dissolving? Is it love when our souls have never met?
Don’t you know how torn up inside I am still? I could wish for it all I want.
She will love me until we both are broken.
We are broken down, crawling in regret.
What I feel when she’s in my home, and not you – what I know I will never show.
Tell myself that I’m just too cold, or too new – what could be I will never know.
So I sit here, sing, and self-loathe along to my bedroom, and my books and chairs and desk.
And I’m calling, I am calling: “I’m left alone…I am nothing.”
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