I'm sick of counting flower pedals
if the last one is a lie
I'm sick of believing in something
if it wont survive..
How many times do I have to say I'm sorry...

for all these lies...
well..
for making you cry..
well..
for making you believe in what we had..
would all just shrivel up..
and die...

Counting all the tears from your..
morbid eyes.
Knowing all of them is from me..
I'm sick of believing in something..
if it'll never work out right..
So how many times do i have to say I'm sorry..
if the last time was a lie?

I'm sorry for..
making you cry..
well..
making you die.
and feel bitter emptyness..
tangled up inside..
when love shriveled up and died..

I want to know
does everything i touch
turn to..
dust?