I'm on a cusp of knowing
I'm the tool
I like to plan my outings with ruthless rules
The clock will strike and I'll be in my room
I'd rather be in my garden south of here
'Cause I have a friend, she is someone I hold dear
I see her once a year
'Cause when my face is red
I'm only good to cry
And when I'm hurting her
I can't tell black from white
When I leave my house to the garden
North of here
I will trust you with the flowers I grew
Over the years
And I promise they will grow on you too
'Cause when my face is red
I'm only good to cry
And when I'm hurting her
I can't tell black from white
'Cause when my face is red
I'm only good to cry
And when I'm hurting
I can't tell black from white