Strewn aside like a sorrowful lamb,
The prospect of death shining in my eyes,
But I was pushed from the butcher's blade,
I could not have what he didn't want me to have
I divorced myself from pain,
And fell into your broken arms,
Where've you gone my dear?
The children are talking,
My garden's been ransacked,
The flower has been picked,
And I'm wilting in your hand,
Did you change your mind?
And so they say time's spinning away,
I will make you tell the truth
Coquettish thieves in the secret garden,
They know not what they'll find,
The flower has been picked,
And I'm wilting in your hand,
Did you change your mind?
And so they say time's spinning away,
I will make you tell the truth,
Erase me from your memory,
And ban me from your tragic kingdom,
I'll stagger out the burning village,
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