I tend to my underserved garden Sharp boys still cry for their mothers I overshare and ask for no pardon Whatever helps the grass grow higher and higher Blood on the grass, well it helps the grass grow Too high to feel is not a feeling Well, I pour my blood in the garden so the grass grows Too sad to love is way too easy, easy Painting the blue skies over The sharp boys still bleed like the soft ones I'm trying to keep my composure Whatever helps the grass grow higher and higher Blood on the grass, well it helps the grass grow Too high to feel is not a feeling Well, I pour my blood in the garden so the grass grows Too sad to love is way too easy, easy