It was a national day
I pieced myself together
From remains of melancholia  
You asked about the weather
I said it looked like a tornado
I'm spinning into a dreary dream
You laughed the way roses wilt away
And took another sip from a broken glass of wine

I watched the garden untangle itself
In the breeze of an April's December
Hanging holiday lights with whiskey breath
Your hair tangled in knots
Like bows on unopened presents
I remember the shade of Crimson
That you left across the white picket fence
When the rain poured and tried to wash it all away