When the sunrays say it’s too late and leave me ony own
Hands grow cold on a summer night
For of all the fears I fear being left alone.

What is a garden if it is made up of rocks
It’s just a dead crowd
With no one to listen, no one to talk.

I asked my vulnerabilities, are they leaving too?
They loathe selfishness, they won’t leave me alone
They are here till the end, to walk me home.