I refuse to sit and listen to you whine about your scars,
I've got a busy day ahead collecting hearts in jars,
I keep them on a shelf at home, where I poke them till they bleed;
Some people think its crazy, but I prefer to call it greed.

My heart cannot be caught, its stuck inside a box
Its stashed inside, a small small room, with lots and lots of locks.
I collect these jars for company, so my heart is not alone.
Because even a lonely tree, will try and grow around a stone.