Oh how you must think nothing of me,
as I watch and wait under this tree
Sworn to secrecy,of my flaws and blessings.

The demons do reside,clawing at my arms
Reaching for the angel voices that fly away with the wind.
Like a rose dying in the sight of love,
They're picking at my petals,one by one
Desinagrating before my grasp...
The air is still and wet,
If I was to die today,begone with this tree
What will be come of me?