You can bring me back the good old days
When flowers blossomed on the windowsill
When I could count the million ways
And each lie, a daffodil.

You can bring me back your soul
You can tear yourself apart
But those lies filled up the hole
Of my bleeding, dying heart.

And nowadays there are a thousand smiles
Growing by the windowsill.
And they will stand a million trials
For I shall follow my own will.