No need to hide yourself anymore.
You paint the field yellow for me. You spray fragrance on the flowers. You pluck one from the garden and keep it in the vase. You lay grass mat in your yard. You tell me that's your field. "I'm impressed," but did you do all that to keep me? We walk on the floor, barefoot. We talk about the beautiful moon. But, I'm afraid. Did you make that up too? I love flowers, and certainly to walk on grass. But I love the beautiful things that are real. I would've loved your grey field, holding your sorrow. I would've walked on cobblestones while the music plays low. I would hold you when you most need me to. No need to cover things up for me, when I'm all here for you. Now, you grow flowers in your field, Sometimes walk on grass I grew. You walk with those marks 'Cuz the wounds are healed. They don't bleed anymore. ...