All the ink I've used
has been just for me
probably more than
what in your veins ran
maybe more than
what ran out
I wish my pen would do the same

See, I've been trying to fit more than a name
on a white page
trying to write it whiter
before the public's tears
and those inevitable years
wash my chance away

You left at such a young age
we'll try to keep you a bit longer

The tortured vine brings sweetest fruit
ripe fruit picked, grows sweeter too.
i need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.