• Ask your secret garden,
    “What have you done to me?”
    Hear the silent whisper:
    “I am the secret key”
    “Key to what?”
    You may not ask,
    For in the darkness, whispers,
    Are yours only to task.

    You turn around,
    And walk away,
    For tomorrow comes,
    And with it, whatever may,
    The sun falls down,
    And the flowers die,
    As you lock the door,
    And parade your lie.

    In your secret garden,
    The shadows fall,
    Their whispers cannot reach you,
    But you feel their silent call,
    Your every bone knows the truth,
    Of your impending doom,
    For hidden in the shadows,
    A flower waits to bloom