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You came with your scythe; cut down, and trampled the ground, leaving your prints all over the soil.
All I want is to love and be loved, Is that too much to ask?
I made mistakes; planted the wrong thing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Sometimes I tended the weeds and neglected the flowers; ignored the weaker delicate ones, not knowing their worth. I opened the gates and you entered where no other had been before.
So I hid my garden, and grew it in secret; my flowers bloomed but not under your gaze. You said you knew how it was all to be done, so I trusted you.
But among my flowers you grew thorns; you did not feed the soil, you destroyed where you should have built.
I love him so much, So I don't have the strength To walk right out the door.