You warned me we're all made of glass,

That our lives are far too thin,

So why did I not believe you,

Till it was your shards in my skin,

Now these scars upon my fingers,

Run too deep to just forget,

despite the wilted roses,

From the first time that we met,

And I don't know why I told you,

I was good at letting go,

For all I do now's watch dead flowers,

And pray somehow they'll grow.