You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies...

I take my empty canvas
And I wash my ready brush...

Life is the blossoming of flowers in the spring,
the ripening of fruit in the fall...

The world's like a flower
Either fallen or grown...

A gift, shall be given to someone
That you didn't know...

When Day met the Night,
there was a story to tell...

He hates how she loved Him.
He hates how He felt...

Solitude is the companionship of the self,
A meaning greater than mere silence...

Harsh words and violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows...

As I lie awake in my room
I pull out a rose that is red and gloom...