Soft thoughts, pink bruises Floral blankets, sunday afternoons You plucked flowers from my mothers garden to lay across my cold, gray grave Walked past a doe with a throat covered in blood on your walk home Drank wine straight from the bottle that evening Kissed your girlfriend on the palms and went to bed All you've ever done was take You are slowly unravelling pieces of you that were sewn into me so well I figured I lost you on the first sunday in june There was no rain in april And no flowers in may It's been two years, and you're still taking And I'm still paying Every day has been like sunday Silent and gray Black hair, nails on a chalk board Walls covered in maps, sunday afternoons And everyday has been like sunday Silent and gray