A cliché metaphor I can't quite get rid of.
My heart was a garden
that you overtook.
You got rid of the weeds
and planted your flowers,
which blossomed and grew
roots deep into my chest.
Now I’ve learned the truth,
and oh, how I miss those weeds
My heart was a garden
that you overtook.
You got rid of the weeds
and planted your flowers,
which blossomed and grew
roots deep into my chest.
Now I’ve learned the truth,
and oh, how I miss those weeds
