For all of my noise I am nothing more than a sensitive child;
I'm sorry, I'm tired, guess I haven't slept in a while.
It's hard to be honest with myself,
but I should have been honest with you.
Of all of the flowers I planted,
doubt was the brightest to bloom;
I never had too much to offer to you.

So lay me, restless,
inside the cage that my body will make of my bones
as I slowly waste away;
I'm sorry, my darling,
I'm still so afraid, that the flowers you've grown
on the grave of our love will remain,
long after my memory fades.

I promise that someday I'll make up,
for all the mistakes that I've made.