Your kisses used to taste like love,
But now kisses taste a lot like leaving.
When the past calls,
I will not answer.
I cannot let myself be toiled with delusions of grandeur,  
Sighing at a wilted garden once called Eden.
This garden, being the same one we built together,
Belonging to us both,
Has long been abandoned.  
I will let the wilting red roses die,
Just like the memory of the way your kisses taste,
Just like the way you let our love die.