The friend

I might be the one who's wrong all along
pushing a good friend to his harrowing fall
his wishes and dreams pouncing on the wall
with the sound of the trombone and a mourning song

In my pursuit to break a curse
I force some things that cannot be forced
and in the end I made things worse
A green gift, turned into a crimson hearse

I never thought that the small details
would develop into something that hits you by its tails
sprouts that grow in broad daylight
creeping as dark shadows in the night

And now I wake up to the guilt and all
I failed my friend who just gave it all
and now he just stopped caring at all
He stands up tall while I cringe and crawl