There is a broken record under my pillow in a dream
There is shattered glass across the floor
There are pages ripped out of books
I'm shook

There are matches on my headboard
There is rope in the garage
There is a bottle full of pills
There is a tub full of water
There is a drawer full of knives
There is a river down the road
There is a key for the case of guns
There is a train coming at noon
What do I do? What do I do?
So many choices to choose.
There is a broken record under my pillow

No one can hear my muffled sobs as tears roll down my face
No one can see my quivering lip or my bruising hip as i sit in the too small space
No one can see the pain i'm in or when my nails dig in my skin
No one can hear the keyboard keys clack as i type out this allegory
No one can really tell why i'm here they just think its for the glory

The roses are red, and the violets are blue.
Honey is sweet, and so are you.
The roses have wilted, and the violets are dead.
The honey jar is empty, and the tiles are stained red.

I can't be your Valentine, I've fallen to the floor.
I took too many pills , but I told you, "I don't love you anymore."
When I look in the mirror; blue drains from my eyes.
When I look down; red drains from my thighs.

I've woken up in a hospital room.
I did not die, I failed, now I'm doomed.
I look around, and then I see.
I can not move, I can't get free.

They've bound me tight to the uncomfortable bed.
I see a mirror, when I look my eyes are red.
Puffy from the night before.
Crying drowsily on the bathroom floor.

I look up and see the light.
I wish I could reach, it's way too bright.
A nurse walks in and greats me good day.
I listen to him start to say...

"The roses may be wilted, and the violets may be dead,
there might not be honey left, but I can sill be your friend."