Cover me in white roses,
when it’s all over,
when the sun stops spinning around me,
and the stars dress in dark lace.
Make me a garden,
where things go to say goodbye,
in the chapel,
where we first kissed,
racked with guilt,
because our love always felt secret,
even when everybody knew,
and you know I want the drama,
even when I’m not around to enjoy it.
Tell them that you loved me,
your tears trying to save those that can never grow again,
tell them that you loved me,
if it’s really true,
or even if it isn’t,
because if this is the last time,
that anyone is obligated to think of me,
can’t I be loved,
for the first time?