Revert

I think I might be slowly dying,
Or maybe just forgot to breathe...
Just leave me lying where I fall.
Don't dwell on me, feel free to leave.
I think I might be sort of living,
Or maybe I'm just stagnant here,
Don't look at me, I have no purpose,
And soon enough I'll disappear.
I've probably been very greedy,
I've never tried to play along,
Ignore wherever I've succeeded,
There's far too much that I've done wrong.
I realize that you owe me nothing;
The more I learn, the more I hurt;
This pain can never be neglected,
Soothed, forgotten, nor revert...

Dear Undertaker:

Dress me in my finest gown, when I'm laid to rest

My lips, though formed into a frown, Still make them look their best

Close my eyes in such repose, as I lie there still,

That it seems I simply doze, though wake, I never will

Put some flowers in my hair, and blush upon my cheek

Fold my hands with gentle care, for I am frail and weak

Then close the coffin lid at last, I'm ready to depart

Death only will ignore my past, and heal my broken heart

Lay me thus into the ground, and weep not for me,

For to the grave this life was bound, and I went willingly

Scattered

Scatter withered roses on my grave
Pray for me if you would have me saved
I guarded my heart selfishly
And lost it still, to jealousy
I'll meet you in the land of the depraved
So scatter withered roses on my grave

Shield me from heaven's lonely gaze
My rotten soul has festered here for days
I pray the lord my soul to keep
As I lay me down to sleep
Am I the only one you couldn't save?
Then scatter withered roses on my grave

I want you to suffer
As long as you remember me
And I want to watch you suffer
From that pain throughout eternity

Scatter withered roses on my grave
And sing a hymn and pray that I forgave...
Your prayers will never set you free
You never will be rid of me
Did you really think that I'd behave?

So scatter withered roses on my grave

Rain

I can see the coming rain.
It has followed me once more.
It takes no notice of my pain,
Nor has it ever cared before.
Could it be the heavens mourn for me?
Can they not see me cry?
No, they watch objectively,
And drown my tears not knowing why.

"Cry, cry!" I hear voices say.
"For the world is cold!
If you do not die today,
Then you will just grow old!"

I can not hear them when it rains.
The rain drowns the voices out.
Still, my horrid ear, it strains,
So the voices soon will shout:
"Cry, cry you wretched fool,
For someday you will die,
Knowing that the world is cruel,
Yet will never have learned why!"