Tomorrow, when I am gone,
perhaps you will know…
what my words actually meant.
Or maybe they are to be twisted, mutilated,
turned back against me,
Just because they are not mine.
Tomorrow, when I am gone,
perhaps you will know what my love is
it is not kind, neither gentle
I am no angel, by dying I hope to be one.
Tomorrow , when I am gone,
I will show you my wounds
all my pains, my failures…
you can decide then, whether to love me or not.
By then I might be too far, thats what I fear..
I fear… I fear… I fear..
And therefore I cry.
