There is a garden that I want to go,
a place where I can be alone,
a place where I will hang my head -
quite literally, because that's where I've planned to be dead.

"Poor thing", I said when he got a papercut, he said I could blow on it,
he wasn't talking about the cut.

I missed you today,
As if a breeze had walked in,
Then left me to cold,

I said your name today,
But my voice was drowned,
By the laughter of people around,

I remembered your touch today,
Disintegrating into fine sand,
Blown away on a deserted land,

My heart ached for you today,
Like spikes piercing upwards,
Poking away at fallen clouds,

I cried for you today,
With heavy tears that sunk,
Dropping down into a dark well,

I feel alone today,
As I’m missing you,
By myself and on my own.