In some kind of night terror There was this ghost And we shared our deaths while sleepwalking through life But as casualties rose, he found in me a scapegoat He found his lack of passion as a fault of mine And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away And if i take so much as a petal out on you, I'm sorry But he's not worth mentioning cuz he means nothing to me now Good as dead in a body bag, either hanged or shot or drowned But before his grave he made it clear: my hands dug his hole Then he slithered six feet under into that new home And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away And if i take so much as a petal out on you, I'm sorry And i hope the roses on his grave are rotting away And if i take so much as a petal out on you, I'm sorry