Love was born in April,
Under the little tree
That stood out amongst the others
Amid the bushes green.

Blue was the rusted table
I sat at each day to eat.
Stone was the path you trod
Each time you passed, we'd meet.

I was young and immature,
But I'd deny the latter.
You were sweet and gentle,
Benevolent but battered.

Life hasn't been kind to you,
I wish I could say that weren't true.
I hoped I could've been the one to change
The one to change it all for you.

But looking back at the seed we grew,
I am floundering to believe that
That rose red bud in May
Is now some twisted thorny fray.

Perhaps I am only dreaming
Of the ghosts that try to haunt me,
But the sting I feel,
The blood I shed, it is all too real.

12 seasons have passed
But to me it's been 12 lives.
I've known you for so, so long yet sometimes,
I wonder if I even know you at all.