The skies are stormy,
My heart is dead,
Now, lay me down,
On my final resting bed,
Scattered with crimson roses,
With the sweet scent of death,
That’s where my soul would have left,
If things were different,
If life wasn’t so bold,
I don’t think I would have found myself,
Outside in the cold,
Slowly freezing from my fingertips- and up,
If only I wasn’t such a lost wounded pup,
