What makes loving me hard?
Is it my annoying laugh or my unbrushed hair?
The way I never stop to stare at the flowers on the side of the road?
We see them so differently.
To you, they are full of life, but they're dead to me
So what is there to see?
Now I am collecting flowers,
and they all remind me of you.
I am going to cut them all down,
and turn this garden into a field of stone,
You always kept it clean but now the weeds are overgown