You keep weaving a intricate web of lie's,
so many that confuse me till I just cry.

The picture of us, the memory's I remember
are not at all like the one's of that fateful December.

The sister I once knew, the sister I once trusted,
left us fast as the wind, and all of us in the dust.

I remember well that December day, it wasn't
snowing, but instead a ice cold rain, as if it was
to be a bad day already.

The wound you cut was deep, I sometimes feel
as though all of this isn't real, sometimes the
wound reopens, and I'm afraid it will never full heal.

I want to bury your memory and that of that day,
but when I see your face it brings the memory's,
and wounds back new with all the pain.