I don't mean to dig up the past
Just let me clear out the cemetery in my voice
I sit here before flowers
Hoping they will train me to open up
I stand before mountain tops
Believing avalanches will train me to let go
I may sit here before you, and know nothing
But yet I'm still here to learn
I accept that today may be imperfect
I accept that I may be as well
What I don’t accept is that imperfection should be the crutch
I use to excuse myself from participating in joy
Because to be honest I said
What I wanted to say was that
It’s funny, how all those things flooded my head
As we we’re saying goodbye
“That I would hold you, until my skin crumbles into bone”
“Because I am willing to die alone”
But God knows I don’t want to live that way
And yet she lives the poetry
So today, be the weed that grows in the cracks of concrete
Because the weed, doesn't know
It wasn't supposed to be growing there
So I guess at the end of the night
With any possible mistakes you may have left behind
But that enough about flowers and mountains
Cause I’m not here to dig up the grave of the past
I’m just here today for yesterday’s funeral
That is late for tomorrow
