People may not know my name
But...
That's completely fine
I'll die for everyone who died in vain,
Anyone who died nameless and unknown,
I'll die for you
To let you know
You're time here meant something
You mean something
You were loved
You are loved

I'll die for you,
Then someone will die for me and you,
For us,
For them,
For us all,
For everyone that
noone knows who are
Die for each other.

head hung low
where the road leads I will go,
it's a hard and a crooked life
when you're a dead man's unwedded bride.

the day moves slow,
where the road leads no one knows,
it's a hard and a crooked life
when you're a dead man's unwedded bride.

down by the road sits a man,
who's gray and old,
says the hardest thing I know
is to see your loved ones go.

where the wildflowers grow,
there's a lake that's dark deep and cold,
there I shall lay my bones.

down I go,
going to  lay my bruised bones,
and the hardest thing they'll know,
Is to have to let me go.

Many nights I have spent wishing you would come back
I'd combat the thoughts of you with numbing substance
pressing random buttons forming words and sentences.
I have mentioned this about you a couple thousand times
"each succeeding line is all written in the presence of her
as the nights bother the days; I've spent minutes dazed,
felt crazed that she would be so far and so distant".
People say time heals all wounds, as if tombs would open up
and frozen hearts would start to roam the Earth once again.
It's all a fantasy, to fantasise a world where time heals wounds
is like repainted rooms would had not once held the colours before,
the pretence and second layer is a covered decor, it's fictitious
to witness the ticking of time and suggest that scars fade,
and part ways are path ways that don't necessarily mean anything.
Times don't heal scars, nor do they properly heal the wounds,
the tunes that once shared between two people in tune still hurt
and words spoken between the two lips and heard by the two ears
are fears of memories still trying to dig itself out of the coffin
buried beneath the passage of time and the belief that everything is okay.
It isn't okay...
It hasn't been okay...
Time is supposed to heal wounds but I'm consumed by the memories
the Decembers, the Februarys; months go by and the scars are still there
the wounds are still bare to the touch and all I can do is open up
the poison that numbs the feeling.
It isn't okay...
It hasn't been okay...
They keep telling me time heals all wounds, but the golden minutes
only brings up old memory visits that lead me back to where you lay.
I'd play would you rather with you one more time if I could talk to you,
but time undoes what I couldn't do. Time keeps passing and it's letting me
still remember you and for that I am thankful.

I love you.
One more year has passed.

I wish you could kiss the bruises on my heart
make the marks vanish one by one so that each beat
continues to meet the next and each time my heart
pumps the art it has stored in there, it wouldn't be so tragic.
The static words, deceased on the page like snowflakes
misshapen by the treacherous winds, melted to a droplet
and softened the stones like teardrops softening a once sturdy heart.

I wish you could kiss the bruises on my heart
but so far you've been the depiction in every word,
every hurt and every tear I've ever written about.
You are without a doubt the muse behind my writings,
the angel igniting the flames that fuels my heart
and art would be meaningless had it not seen the influence of you.
You are every sloppy kisses, every awkward hugs,
enough to make me want to try all my mistakes again
like defend my heart only to have the fences defenceless.

I wish you could kiss the bruises on my heart...