My heavy heart is weighing me down, my chest is one with the ground, yet the earth feels so good beneath me. The grass starts tying itself around me in perfect green bows. My arms and legs are the roots of a tree stump and I'm not moving anymore. I'd much rather have a big heart than a cold one. I'd rather be hurt than be the cause, yet I am heartache and it's seeping into your chest and there's nothing I can do. My mistakes are clouds floating overhead, you're trying to guess their shape, but they're raining on you instead.