It isn't what I have lost that hurts; it's what I didn't gain. It isn't what I have lost that hurts; it's what I didn't gain.

She's always pretty, And it's nature to her. She's always pretty, And it's nature to her.

And I feel a song in my chest; It's the coming of winter, they say, And I feel a song in my chest; It's the coming of winter, they say,

But something held me down. Maybe it was what I used to wipe her tears away, my sorrow-soaked sleeve... But something held me down. Maybe it was what I used to wipe her tears away, my ...

I'd cause my end, to exist, I would cease. I'd cause my end, to exist, I would cease.

Death is not a poetry I wrote or a picture I painted Death is not a poetry I wrote or a picture I painted