Questions For the Heart

How cliche is that? A dozen perfect roses... Why is it that whenever I am ready to step in your door just closes? I do not know, and why is it that you cry my tears from me and not your eyes? If it just because my sight is filled with lies? I do not know that answer to the things that you ask, But why, my heart, do you always try to hide behind a sort of mask? How come my tears almost always look like little broken hearts? And why is it that when I think I am most happy that a tear starts? I do not know, my dear heart. I have no answers for your questions.