sometimes when i walk home
through the purple haze i wonder
will i cry when i get home
will i write a blurry love song
painting the paper with my tears

will i cry the tears i never gave you
and lock them up in my box of silence
where i save the words of love
that you left scattered in my bed

will i tear down the wallpapers
so i won't be blinded by the
emotional stains of your goodbye

will the whispers of my madness
be to weak to leave my lips

will i cry?