Here stands the ghost of a hopeless man;
he’s got scratches on his neck and blood on his hands,
and eyes that cry ten different commands.
He says "as the rose grows it causes problems with romance”,
and yet he stands before me with a bouquet in his hands,
and I say “ Why do you pick them apart?
                        He says “ because I can”.

Forget your love me’s and your love me nots,
I’ll leave you to rot. Remove your mind from it shop.
Im telling you stop.