Maybe you love me,
Or maybe I'm hearing you wrong,
The touches that were suppose to heal bruise violet and scar,
There's no kind of science that can analyze what we had created,
So we'll leave every question unanswered and put in a grave.
And we'll never know what it's like in the Spring,
Winter was so cold and too bleak to be free,
Maybe Summer will be better when all the flowers have blossomed and the sky is crystal clear,
But then everything slowly fades and dies when Fall is near.