Thinking back when I remember,
The days that we love to forget.
The love they called torn and tattered,
Now we don’t even show regret.
They buried you with flowers,
Now your hearts under my rose.
Beating all through the hour,
Counting down till it corrodes.
You should have known from the beginning,
And you should have known right from the start.
This wouldn’t be a happy ending,
Nothing that I said came from the heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.